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whats-rambled-rambled · 4 years ago

Text

Long Nights - part 2

Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: Praise you

(see chapter 1)

summary: you found tremendous joy in coming up with new ways to make the lockpicking sessions challenging. And entertaining.

...even if the last part was mostly a one-sided thing.

warnings: 18+, explicit language, teasing, implied smut I guess? oh, and of course - ✨hand content✨

author’s note: Took me a while, but it was fun to write! Didn’t expect it to get this long, but here we are - over 4,2k words of shameless hand content

The song for this chapter is Fatboy Slim - Praise you

Anyway, enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

——————

Tag list: @vaneilla @gallifreyan-uprising @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @truly-insatiable (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

-----

You cracked it.

It took you a good while, though. A whole sleepless night, even.

And half of the morning after that.

But maybe the absolute exhaustion was the key, pun intended.

At first, it boggled your mind so much that you were dangerously close to using brute force just to examine that lock. You tried every technique that you could think of - to no effect. It wasn’t like anything you’d seen before. The mechanism wasn’t responding as usual, it was more like a thing from goddamn Upside Down, or however the fuck that was called.

It became a matter of pride.

The sun had risen over an hour ago and the sunlight was pouring through the gaps in the blinds. Grasping at the last strands of sanity, you decided to take a break. You put on your headphones and danced around your apartment to the sounds of a song with that one bloody line that somehow seemed fitting for this madness.

Is it worth it? Let me work it, I put my thang down, flip it and reverse it

Because it felt exactly like that was what had happened to it. And no amount of cursing and switching tools would help in the face of glitched reality.

And when you sat down at your desk again, with your head so empty that your last brain cell was amusing itself by yodeling and listening to an echo, you bound the first pin. The sound was so distorted it almost startled you. The last thing you needed right then was to break the hook inside the keyway, so you leveled your breath and continued, even though your fingers cramped painfully. That wasn’t enough to stop you. Not as you finally got proof that the task was actually within your reach.

With every click like a backwards version of the sound you knew so well, the next pins got set quicker and smoother. And when you opened the lock, you couldn’t help the cheerful scream that escaped your mouth.

“Fuck yes!” You punched the air, the adrenaline rushing through your veins, the biggest grin lighting up your face.

That’s when you knew there was no way you were going to sleep anytime soon. Besides, you still didn’t know how you managed to convince that device to cooperate. You had to prove to yourself that it wasn’t dumb luck, and should you ever come upon a bloody nightmare like that, you’d be able to use the experience to crack it open. Because of that, you spent the next couple of hours reverse-picking it (which turned out to be another level of bonkers) to lock the damn thing, only to open it back again. And again. And then three times more. When you got comfortable with the process, your eyes were burning, your fingers stiff and trembling, but the immense satisfaction was worth every bit of it.

You were about to crash on the bed as your phone buzzed, and you glanced at the incoming message.

//did you pick it?

At first, you assumed you got it from Mahir, but as you were typing in a long rant, you realized that there was no history of the previous conversations on the screen, so you checked the sender again.

Neil.

Huh.

You’d exchanged the numbers the day before, but you didn’t expect to hear from him until they got everything ready to start the lessons. Oh well. You snapped the picture of the open lock and sent it back, adding a short message.

//that was fun, hope you have more of them

As you faceplanted on the bed, the phone buzzed with a reply.

//N: you bet

You couldn’t wait to get all the answers about how they managed to manufacture the most bizarre and mind-bending thing you’d ever seen, but there was no point in asking those questions over the phone. Plus, you really needed to get some rest.

//awesome! now excuse me, imma get some Zs - let me know when you guys are ready to start

After a second, you typed in another text.

//ps. how’s your nose?

//N: will do, sleep well!

//N: as for my nose...let’s say I’m glad it wasn’t the straightest one in the first place

That cheeky bastard.

//hey, don’t try to guilt-trip me, i’m trying to sleep

You almost drifted off, but you couldn’t resist checking that last notification.

//N: ...I wouldn’t dare

Snorting, you rolled to the side.

Then you fell asleep, dreaming of the impossible locks.

-------

It took them another day to prepare all the stuff, and after several further messages you got a date and location.

The building looked like a contemporary tenement house, definitely standing out from two older ones at its sides. You always assumed it belonged to one of those fancy start-ups, but apparently it was some sort of temporary headquarters of your new associates.

It didn’t surprise you that you weren’t given a tour of the place, you assumed you needed to have some sort of clearance to walk freely through the area. For now, you were restricted to the ground floor, or rather to the lobby and your classroom - a rather cozy space, but equipped with everything you needed to begin.

Neil turned out to be a fast learner, at least when it came to covering the theoretical side of lockpicking. You walked him through the basics, but you couldn’t help the itch in the back of your brain. After the encounter with the preposterous lock, your mind started to question everything that used to be unshakeable.

And of course you asked Neil about that bloody device as soon as you saw him, but he just smiled lightly and said that The Protagonist insisted on telling you all that himself when the time was right. So you had nothing left to do but to continue with the lessons, hoping that you the man himself would decide to grace you with his presence sooner than later.

You propped the chin on your hand and watched as Neil grabbed the tools. Your gaze wandered over his outrageously long fingers as he gave the lock a try, but apparently, the most idiotic grin on your face didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey, eyes up here,” snorted Neil, and you looked at him just to meet his amused face. He caught you shamelessly staring, and there was no point in denying it.

Trying to salvage your mental coherence, you choked out, “Dude, your hands are--”

“What?” he asked, tilting his head.

“...huge,” you finished, the wide smile not leaving even for a second. You bit your lip and glanced back at Neil. “Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna stare for a bit longer.”

A hint of a blush crept upon his cheeks. My, oh my. Blinking rapidly, he cleared his throat and proceeded to bind the first pin, pressing his mouth into a thin line in an attempt to keep a composed demeanor. The sparkles in his gaze were quite telling, though.

The sight was utterly adorable, but more importantly, it planted a rather gut-busting idea into your head.

You stifled a giggle.

All in due time.

____

One of the perks of the location was a small cafe on the other side of the street.

Neil took you there on your second day during a break, walking in with a confidence of a true regular. He knew the staff by name and vice-versa, so it didn’t surprise you as he charmed his way through the conversation.

“I’ve got this,” he said, raising a hand to stop you before you could place your order. “One black coffee and one--...” he hesitated, still preventing you from chiming in. You crossed your arms and watched as his forehead creased, the confidence leaving him with every second passed. He narrowed his eyes, and you could almost hear the gears grinding in his head.

Whatever he was doing, or trying to do, it was time to put him out of his misery.

“Iced mocha for me, please,” you said, wondering which one of you had a more puzzled expression. “Cat got your tongue?”

Neil shook his head.

“No, it’s just…” - he let out a small sigh - “I can’t read you.”

“Good,” you snorted. “Why would you want to, anyway?”

The young barista smiled, putting the first coffee on the counter.

“Oh, your colleague here has a thing.”

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “Do tell!”

“It’s nothing,” said Neil, cringing slightly, but it wasn’t enough to prevent the enthusiastic answer from spilling from the barista.

“He likes to guess the orders of his companions, but this is prolly the first time I ever saw him freeze like that. Can’t wait to tell Doris!”

Neil groaned, avoiding your amused stare. “Spare me, Max.”

“Aww, man, I’m honored to be your first!” you teased, nudging his arm lightly and snickering at the absolutely done face he gave you in return.

That cafe quickly became your place of choice during breaks, but sometimes, if the weather was nice enough, you ordered to-go, just to spend that bit of free time between lockpicking sessions sitting on a grassy hill overlooking a bank of the river. You chatted about everything and nothing in particular, or simply sat in silence, enjoying the ambiance, beverages, and each other’s company.

The last thing took you by surprise, in a way. You’d expected those brief moments of a break during the day to be your sacred moments of solitude, the usual necessity to avoid getting too cranky around people. As Neil joined you on that second day, you found out that his presence was not bothering you, or at least your social batteries weren’t being drained in their regular manner. Sure, it probably helped that he was incredibly easy on the eyes, but a real treat were those moments when you ventured onto a territory he felt strongly about. In a wink, he was ready to drop his typical composure just to go straight into bubbly rants, gesturing wildly, the blue irises lit by the fire that he most often kept under wraps.

There was nothing more boring than people who lacked passion.

Lucky for you, that was not the case with Neil.

Moreover, he made you laugh.

A dangerous combination.

Alluring, even.

Good thing that you were not one to become smitten that easily.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t have some fun, though.

--------

“You need to listen to what the lock has to say,” you prompted, pacing through the room and watching as Neil struggled with a new type of mechanism. “It’s all about feedback.”

He pulled out the tools and rubbed his face, trying to hide the first hints of frustration.

“What if we apply heavier tension to amplify it?” he said and glared at the lock as if it was taunting him from its place on the practice stand.

“Sure, “ - you leaned over the table to rest the chin on your laced fingers - “but can you think of any reasons not to do that, my dear Physics Boy?”

“The higher possibility of breaking tools?”

“Precisely,” you said as you snapped and pointed your fingers. ”Also, you risk binding the pins too tightly and you wouldn’t want that, either.”

Neil sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“So...patience, then?”

“Yes,” you beamed. “It really comes down to one thing - you have to feel it.”

A corner of his lips twitched. “I’ve heard it before,” he said, shifting in his seat.

You shrugged, eyeing him curiously.

“Maybe because that’s one universally useful advice?”

“Would help if I understood it, too.” He gave you a weak smile, but his expression told you he wasn’t convinced.

You hummed in acknowledgment.

“Listen, I can smarten it up for you, but let me just show you what I mean.” You grabbed the second pair of tools from the table and placed them inside the keyway, but as soon as you opened your mouth to provide some follow-up instructions, you got struck by a better idea. Your eyes flared up. “Okay, know what? I’m just gonna-- if you could scoot back a bit--...” you said, shuffling in his direction. Neil’s brows snapped together in consternation, but he moved back. Without further ado, you sat down in front of him, nestling yourself between his spread legs on the edge of the chair, and let out a content sigh. “Should be easier now. Put your hands on mine.“

Neil tensed, and you could swear you heard him swallowing hard behind your back. He followed your suggestion, wrapping his arms around you and placing his hands on top of yours.

“Now, lay your fingers on the tools just above mine,” you continued as you slid your digits back to make more room for him. “Great, try not to press them and focus. Close your eyes, if you want.” As you gently moved the tools, you couldn’t resist but to add, “You can breathe though, you know?”

“Blimey.”

You giggled at the sarcastic bit in his tone and drew a long breath, hoping that Neil would follow it, and focused back on the lock. Purposefully slowing down your movements to allow him to feel how the mechanism responded to your ministrations, you kept sliding the hook back and forth the keyway, setting pin after pin. Neil relaxed after a moment, his shallow breath ghosting over your shoulder got deeper and more steady. His palms rested heavier on your hands, and you marveled at their size again, nibbling on your bottom lip. With all your senses sharpened, you stole a brief moment of self-indulgence, closing your eyes and relishing in the warmth radiating from Neil, the way it enveloped you, carrying a scent of his cologne - airy citrus undertones mixed with hints of powdery musk, a fresh and unostentatious combination you found fitting him so well.

The final click, more pressure and voilà - the lock was open.

“Did you feel it?” you asked softly, weirdly unwilling to move, hoping to linger in the position for a little while longer.

“Yes,” said Neil, and his husky voice made you turn your head to look at him. As he pulled his hands back somewhat hesitantly, you noticed his dazed expression and slightly flushed cheeks.

“Good,” you chirped, grinning, then reached out over your shoulder and lightly booped his nose, enjoying probably a bit too much the way his eyes widened. “Your turn.”

-----

Days. Weeks. Or was it months, plural?

You lost track of how much time had passed since that morning in the Old Town district.

The progress was counted by the number of models you introduced to Neil, showing him all the tricks you’d learned over the years. You still waited for the meeting with The Protagonist, although, ever since your student spilled a little too much information during one of his enthusiastic rants at the breaks (seriously, how could a person that bad at keeping secrets survive so long in any sort of spying business was beyond you), your initial curiosity itch had been scratched, and you were now in that blessed moment before it got unbearable again and demanded taking further actions.

It also helped that you found tremendous joy in coming up with new ways to make the lockpicking sessions challenging. And entertaining. Even if the last part was mostly a one-sided thing.

Neil was clearly feeling confident that evening. He really started to get a hang of this, and you loved watching him like that - fully focused, blonde strands falling to the eyes, with the tip of the tongue poking out...

It would be a shame if someone was to test his level of concentration.

“You know, I spend so much time looking at your hands that they recently started making cameos in my dreams.”

The blue eyes darted at you from under raised brows.

“Is that so?" asked Neil, switching his attention to the lock again.

“Yep. Mind you, most of those dreams are rather uneventful.” You pouted, sliding from your place on the windowsill. “Still waiting for one that is not so boringly PG-13.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and swallowed with effort.

...warmer...

Circling the table, you stopped behind Neil’s chair.

"I’m just saying,” - leaning over, you purred right into his ear - ”that such long fingers like yours can give a girl all sorts of ideas--"

Snap.

You bit back a satisfied smile and smacked your tongue. “Those were perfectly fine tools, you know.”

Neil turned in his seat and gaped at you.

“Why are you like this?” he complained, helpless and flustered.

You shrugged. “I thought it was a high time for a little stress test. Might come in handy later.” Snickering at his puzzled face, you added, “What? You’re not exactly in a stress-free line of work.”

He shook the head lightly and scoffed. “... yeah, I see your point,” he said, a corner of his mouth curling into a half-smile. “But I don’t think there’s a high risk of someone trying to seduce me in the field.”

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” you asked, arching a brow, your tone nothing but serious.

“I-...”

The panicked look on his face as he blinked rapidly was more than enough to break your deadpan façade.

“Oh man, I’m just pulling your leg. You should’ve seen your face though.” Giggling, you grabbed a fresh lock from a shelf and tossed it to Neil. He sighed and replaced the messed-up device. “Besides,” you continued, “if there is one thing that the espionage movies have taught me, it’s that the spy always has plenty of beautiful creatures willing to keep his bed warm.”

The playful sparks appeared in Neil’s eyes.

“Is this a very elaborate way of asking me if I’m seeing someone or are you volunteering?”

Well, well, well.

“What if it’s both?”

“Then the first answer is no. As for the second one--” he hesitated, tugging the bottom lip between the teeth. “...a follow-up question - is it a good idea?”

You tilted your head, sitting down on the edge of the table in front of him.

“Why?”

“What if it’s gonna make things… I don’t know, weird?”

You gestured vaguely. “Can’t get any weirder than all your timey-wimey, inverted entropy bullshit.”

“That’s not exactly--”

“I know what you meant,” you sighed and met his darkened gaze, a shade of smile tainting your lips. “And yet, you’re trying to appeal to my reason while looking at me like that.” You left your seat and grabbed your backpack. “It’s getting late. Finish with this one and get some rest.”

Then you left, not waiting for a reply.

It was one of the warm nights and you decided to take a walk. A promenade near the river was not as crowded as you expected, making your journey home way more enjoyable. With your favourite tunes seeping through the headphones, you took in the view, the city lights reflecting in the water only added to the ambiance.

The phone buzzed in your pocket.

//N: I can’t believe you left like that

You chuckled, texting him back.

//why, you had any plans?

The answer came almost instantly.

//N: maybe

He was adorable. But--

//have you finished with the lock?

//N: …no

//N: wait are you gonna use our conversation as some sort of motivational tool now

Even if you weren’t, after getting a message like that?

You just had to.

//maybe?

//N: jesus

//sex is but a great metaphorical carrot. besides - it’s all about that delayed gratification and whatnot

A moment of silence.

And then:

//N: you’re evil.

That spiteful period at the end got you snickering loudly, earning you some curious looks.

A huge grin lit up your face.

//gn <3

-----

You must admit, that game was quite exciting.

And Neil was getting better at it, and soon implying became no longer enough to make him lose his focus.

At first, it was relatively easy to prompt a blush or a slight tremble of a hand. But with every next attempt, he grew more and more resilient, and soon, the only indication that he heard you was the fire burning in his eyes.

Then you got really mean, throwing some ambitious tasks in front of him, tricky locks and complex mechanisms, as your teasing got more straightforward.

And descriptive.

It became hard to shake it off once you left the training room. The lingering looks. The accidental touches. The atmosphere, almost electric. In other words - the heat sink was ready to be popped, and it was no longer a matter of if, but more of when.

“4 minutes.”

Neil barely nodded, lips pressed together and brows knitted in concentration.

3 locks in 15 minutes. Difficult, but doable, considering his current level of skill. Too bad he’d slacked at the second one, not leaving too much time for the final push. Sure, you didn’t go easy on him along the way, but the real challenge was supposed to be a race against the clock, so now you just watched him with bated breath.

Click.

You checked the time.

“45 seconds”

“Goddamnit!” he uttered through gritted teeth, readjusting cramping fingers on the tools.

“Come on, you’ve got this,” you said, taking a step closer.

Another click.

He didn’t know that there was only one pin left to set. You did, that’s why you tried your best not to reveal it with your expression. Too early to celebrate, anyway.

“Nine... eight… seven… six… five…”

That’s when you heard a final click and you looked up from your phone, only to see the lock giving in and opening up.

“Yeah!” Neil cheered, banging a fist on the table and tossing the tools away.

You smiled, hiding the phone in the pocket. “Good job, I knew--” but before you could finish a sentence, Neil sprung up from his chair and closed the gap between you, then cupped your face with his palms and kissed you hungrily.

You froze for a second, but as your mind caught up, you kissed him back, tugging at the light blue shirt. He smiled against your lips and made you back away until you hit the wall, huffing at the sudden coldness of the surface. But he was bent on kissing you senseless until you both ended up gasping for air.

“You’re so paying for all that teasing,” he panted, running the tip of the tongue through his swollen lips. “Not to mention, you’ve given me a few fascinating ideas, and I’m very much willing to give them all a try.”

You grinned, fighting with your evidently short-circuiting brain for a grasp of coherence as his hands traveled down your body.

“My, my, all of them?”

“The night is young,” - his throaty chuckle sent a wave of heat through your body - “and I’m up for a challenge.”

“I’m counting on it,” you breathed, burying your fingers in his hair, and pulling him into a kiss again.

Actually, the challenge started right away, and that meant getting to Neil’s place, as the company conveniently rented him a room in a nearby hotel. Walking distance, but in your current quite heated state, every distance seemed way too long. Especially when you had to keep up appearances.

At least until the elevator’s door closed behind you.

The dark gaze fixed on you. Your breaths intertwining. His bottom lip between your teeth. The five o’clock shadow under your fingertips. Your hands sliding under his shirt. His knee parting your legs. The intoxicating smell of his cologne. Your quiet moan. His tongue slipping into your mouth--

A quiet sound announced you reached your floor, and you stumbled out into the corridor, giggling, unable to keep hands and lips off each other.

Your back hit the door, barely missing the knob. Without skipping a beat, Neil reached to the pocket of his pants, then into the other one. When he tried the third one, you broke the kiss, your expression nothing but innocent.

“Looking for this?” you asked, showing him a key card.

He furrowed his brows. “Yes, thank you, I don’t know how--...” he started, but when he tried to snatch his property, you hid your hand behind your back. His jaw went slack as it dawned on him and he stared at you in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

He groaned.

“You’re unbelievable,” he uttered as he pulled out his wallet. “Credit card?”

“Only if you’re not overly attached to it.” The roguish lights danced in your gaze. “Especially when you’re in a hurry,” you hinted, palming over the bulge in his pants. Neil squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a moan, and you stifled a chuckle. “Try any membership card.”

He glared at you. “You’re so in for it, you have no idea.”

“Promises, promises,” you pouted, trying not to burst into laughter at his wounded expression. “Work it.”

“Gladly, just tell me what to do.”

So you walked him through the process.

Fortunately, Neil really was a fast learner, making the door give way in no time.

“Good boy,” you hummed, and the blue eyes flared up.

He crashed his lips on yours, closing the door behind you.

Then he gave you a taste of what was coming for you.

And then some more.

And then…

...he gave you all.

(next chapter ->)

#neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #neil tenet #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #long nights

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imagining-in-the-margins · 5 years ago

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 5 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader (accidentally) blows off a text from Spencer for another guy. Later, Spencer takes her for a second date. A/N: By the way, when you get to the adorable dance scene, the two songs that inspired me most were “Stardust” by Lyambiko and “We Might as Well Dance” by Madeleine Peyroux (Try not to read into the lyrics, I dare you). Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW 18+) Content Warning: Unprotected sex, dirty talk, jealousy, degradation, penetrative sex Word Count: 10k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

—————————————————

I had never envisioned that my life would end up quite like this. That wasn't to say that it was disappointing or regrettable, although in that moment it felt like I had miscalculated a number of things. There was no other way to describe a Saturday night spent laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling of my friend's apartment as if I could manipulate myself into believing it was Spencer's.

It wasn't anyone's fault that it couldn't be his, instead. The stupid, gorgeous bastard wasn't ignoring me; he was just out of town for the weekend.

Truthfully, I should have been a little more considerate. It wasn't his fault he had to work. But I also couldn't help but be disappointed that he was always working. I hadn't seen him in almost two weeks and it was killing me. The last time I'd seen him was the morning after our first 'date,' and it was a brief enough interaction that I had already run out of ways to overthink it.

Spencer had gotten a restful night of sleep that night. Despite his little impromptu confession, he slept as though he'd never been more peaceful in his life. I had not. I'd had the pleasure of staying up for hours, playing his words through my head on loop and trying to figure out what the fuck had happened.

It didn't amount to anything though. The morning came, and he had long forgotten the words half mumbled through a sleepy daze. I'd told him that he had been mumbling in his sleep, and he asked me if he'd said anything embarrassing. I told him no. He hadn't pressed any further, simply stating that he must've been dreaming.

I almost thought it had been a challenge; a way to test if I'd gotten too close. But then I realized that I was probably just an idiot, and I was wanting it to mean more than it actually did.

So much for having run out of ways to overthink it.

Regardless, his aloofness had returned my heart to the broken, hurting mess it had been before he uttered the words that forever altered my universe.

That wasn't his fault, either. I was the one who'd set myself up for failure by ever imagining that we could be something more. I'd known he wasn't the most emotionally available suitor since the moment I met him. At least, not for me. I'd never actually seen him anyone else.

I didn't really want to think about that, though. I really didn't want to think about that.

"Hey, get your lazy ass up so I can sit down."

The order drew me from my reverie — rather unpleasantly, might I add. Because when I turned to face my friend standing in front of me, I came face to face with his crotch.

"Dude, I don't want any of that in my face," I laughed to the unfortunately familiar sight. "Back up before I punch you in the dick."

Somewhat surprisingly, he obeyed. He took a step back and waited patiently for me to sit up and scoot over to give him room beside me on the couch. Completely unsuprisingly, however, he did not take advantage of any of the space available. He chose to sit close enough to touch me.

"Some women would do anything to have that privilege," he lied through his teeth.

"Who are these women? And how can I help them avoid this tragic fate?"

He smiled back, having already grown used to me rebuffing all of his advances years before. We had known each other for what felt like forever, but he still tried every chance he'd gotten. That moment was no exception, and it took him very little time to stretch his arm behind me on the couch. I leaned forward, glancing back at the arm that I would continue to avoid despite his best efforts.

I narrowed my eyes in a challenge when he did nothing to remedy the situation. He did not take the humble way out, so my only other option was to do the humbling for him.

"There are three whole couches in this room and you pick the seat directly next to me?"

"You're warm and it's 50 degrees in here," he joked while lifting his other hand to poke me on the nose.

I recoiled in disgust, grabbing the pillow beside me and hitting him in the face with it as hard as humanly possible.

"Then turn up the heat or grab a blanket, jackass," I grumbled, "I'm not giving you my precious body heat."

Once again, he conceded immediately. He held his hands in defeat and scooted just a few inches further away from me. I watched him for a second until he got far enough away, and then returned my attention to my phone, which I had been religiously checking for any news about the vastly more interesting man in my life.

"What are you looking at?"

"My friend. He's supposed to have landed a couple hours ago..."

Seeing that I had no new messages, though, I slumped over onto myself and rested my elbow on my knee. Continuing to ignore the boy trying to get my attention, I favored the one that was possibly ignoring me and endlessly scrolled through our previous conversations.

"Is that the cop? Your boyfriend?" he teased.

"He's not a cop," I corrected with a roll of the eyes.

Although not keen about the thought of the two of them meeting, I did wonder what kind of rant Spencer would've gone into to describe the different types of law enforcement agents. He would learn so much about government job descriptions. But that wasn't the part of the sentence that my friend had stressed, and I felt compelled to answer.

Didn't mean I had to be loud or excited about it, though.

"And he's not my boyfriend," I mumbled into my palm. I hated how pathetic it felt; how forlorn I could be over a man not giving me enough attention. He was still just a man.

A very cute, sweet, and drop-dead gorgeous one. But a man, nonetheless. Destined to be disappointing. During my daydreams and hopeful, lovesick thoughts, my friend had come to another, different conclusion about the type of man Spencer was.

"He carries a gun and can arrest people. He's a cop."

"Whatever," I said with a heavy sigh. Wasn't worth it to fight, so I admitted to my childish infatuation with an equally pitiful, "Yeah, it's Spencer. I was hoping he'd want to see me."

I turned the volume on my phone before finally setting it down, but continued to eye the screen until it went dark.

"It's not like you to chase after a dude," he so helpfully commented.

To his credit, he was right. It wasn't like me. But Spencer wasn't like other guys I'd met, and while it was true that Spencer was ten years older than me, I could tell that age wasn't the only thing setting him apart. It wasn't even necessarily something about him in particular, although he certainly was extraordinary.

It was more like... the way he looked at me. The way I never felt like anything even remotely close to lackluster. He looked at me like the stares shone through my eyes, and the blindness was worth witnessing the unfiltered eclipse.

"I'm not chasing him. We just like spending time with each other," I explained before sitting up straighter and placing a gentle hand to my chest in feigned pride. "I'm a very interesting person."

But then he responded with the last question I wanted to hear, or even think about potentially considering in that moment. The one that had been weighing on my mind no matter how hard I tried to suppress it.

"So... why isn't he your boyfriend, then?"

I hadn't wanted to hear it because I didn't have an answer. And no matter how hard I inspected my cuticles, they likewise produced no excuse worth saying.

The man to my right was twisting his body as he settled into the seat. He kept his chest open to me in some display of fragile masculinity that was very easy to ignore.

"Is he like, ashamed of you or something?" he suggested.

That was less easy to ignore.

"No..." I wanted it to sound more certain than it did. As it stood, it was downright pathetic. Especially compared to his much more confident reply of, "Then what's his excuse?"

I sighed again, that time pulling my legs up on the couch in my unending quest to find some semblance of comfort while being interrogated on the most irritating subject of all time.

"He doesn't need an excuse. We both agreed it's better to just be friends."

He moved closer to me again, and I didn't have the energy to tell him to stop. Not like he would have listened, anyway. Egotistical prick with absolutely nothing to substantiate his inflated sense of self.

"You deserve better than that, (y/n)."

While his words were soft in volume, everything else about him remained gruff and uninviting. Nothing at all like the way Spencer could shift and turn into something completely different. My friend could act like his feigned tenderness was meaningful, but I knew that he liked the thought of me more than who I actually was.

"Yeah, right. With who? You?" I droned, wishing that my words could actually be laced with venom. Maybe then he'd have abandoned this foolhardy quest to win my affections.

"I mean I'm not gonna turn you down if you're offering," he joked.

It was that lightness that was his main redeeming feature; the reason I could keep him around even when his fingers tapped against my opposite shoulder. I laughed at both the sensation and suggestion, refusing by lifting his arm off my shoulders before excusing myself from the couch altogether.

"Piss off. I'm running down to the basement. You want anything?"

"Just for you to come back quick," was his immediate, not-at-all charming reply.

"You're a fucking idiot," was mine.

It wasn't until I was already on my way back up after grabbing a blanket and a drink that I had actually managed to forget about my phone for at least a few minutes.

Then, the terror came. The worry that Spencer had called me, and I'd failed to answer. The possibility that he might've hit my number on a list and already moved on to the next. It had only been like five minutes but still. He talked so damn fast, he could've torn through 5 phone calls in that time.

A little faster, I made my way back to the living room, shouting from down the hall, "Hey, did I leave my phone up here?"

He didn't answer immediately, but then eventually slurred, "Uhh. Yep. Sure did."

When I rounded the corner, I found the gremlin going through my phone. As I already started to plan the new pass code now that he'd gone and figured it out, I ran over, half-tackling him on the couch as I screeched, "Give it back, you dick!"

It was no use. He held it just outside my reach, laughing at the way I scrambled over him to try and grab it.

"Not unless you promise not to check it until after the movie."

Sighing with resignation, I plopped down next to him, my arms crossed and eyes rolled as I convinced myself it was unlikely Spencer would text me within the next hour and a half if he hadn't already.

It was pretty late. Maybe he had already gone to bed and just forgotten to let me know he got home. Besides, I owed my friend as much for managing to get me to forget to check it for this long, no?

"Fine. I promise," I groaned.

I tried not to let the thought ruin my night. The next two hours were like they usually were. He kept trying to cuddle with me, and I kept pushing him away until I eventually didn't. I gave into the general familiarity with the guy I'd known for basically half of all my memories, stopping every few seconds to wonder if I should have felt guilty.

Then I felt guilty for having asked myself at all.

Once the credits began to roll, I held my hand out with zero hesitation. I (im)patiently for him to deposit my phone, which he did, to his credit. However, what I found struck me to my core. My hands immediately began to shake hard enough that the LED blurred in my vision.

"Uhhh, what the fuck is this?"

"What?"

I held up my phone, displaying a text message that had been sent from my phone a couple hours earlier. On the screen, clear as day, me and him from earlier in the day. A painfully domestic snapshot of the two of us running errands together.

The picture shown, though, was one that I swore I'd deleted from my phone. It was him with his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest while I laughed. It wasn't a bad picture, but the context was entirely absent. For example, the fact that I'd almost bruised his chest hitting him right after the photo was taken.

"Why did you send this picture?!" I yelled, desperately swiping at the time stamp. "Two hours ago?!"

He was much too quiet for what was happening. In my haste, I hadn't even notice the accompanying text above the picture, which read 'Sorry man, she's all mine tonight.' Spencer didn't reply.

"Why didn't you tell me that he texted me?!"

My frustration had peaked, and I stood up, pacing somewhat unproductively as I tried to collect my things.

"Because I knew you'd try to leave, and I haven't seen you in fucking ages," he whined, as if I was overreacting.

But I wasn't. This contrived bullshit was entirely his fault, and entirely fucking ridiculous.

"Are you fucking kidding me, dude?" I shouted, finally finding my bag and shoving my stuff inside of it angrily. I didn't even finish, with a few loose coins angrily clambering to the floor as the soundtrack to my farewell.

"Well, now I'm definitely leaving, so kiss my ass!"

Before I could actually leave, I held up my middle finger in the furthest thing from a joke.

"Wait, (y/n), it was a joke!" he called back but didn't try to follow me.

He'd known it wouldn't work. I was too mad.

"You're not fucking funny!"

I slammed the door to my car loud enough to wake the neighbors, but I couldn't care even a little bit. My hands were shaking so hard, that it was a struggle just to click my phone. But I did, fervently pressing Spencer's name until the stupid, traitorous phone could figure out what I wanted it to do.

It rang for 15 whole seconds before I grieved the reality that he wasn't going to pick up. I sighed, lowering my phone to hang up before he could ignore the call or I was given the choice to leave a voicemail. It had been my own fault, anyway.

But just before I hit the button, I heard a tired, crackly voice coming from the other side of the line.

"(Y/n)?"

Oh my god, he picked up.

Then, all at once, the words poured out of me.

"Spencer? I'm so sorry I didn't text you back! Please ignore my friend. He's a fucking idiot."

I could tell from the silence that Spencer was replaying them in his head to try to make sense of the frantic, slurred speech in his own sleepy state. Once he had gotten the gist of my panic, he started to laugh through a yawn.

"It's fine. You looked like you were having fun."

I couldn't tell if it was jealousy in his voice or something else. Either way, it felt terrible. My insecurities crept through my throat and came out with dramatic overcompensation.

"Yeah right. He held my phone hostage. I was waiting to hear from you and he got jealous or something."

There was an awkward silence on the other side of the phone, and so I continued with only a little tremor in my voice, "I'm glad to see that you got home alright."

Another few seconds of silence followed, but then it was the Spencer I was used to again.

"Yeah. It's less fun without you here, though."

That wasn't supposed to be as romantic as it seemed, I reminded myself. He was just flirting. Typical fuckboy nonsense, uttered to get a rise out of me one way or another. He didn't actually mean to imply that he'd already considered what it might be like for me to have joined him.

Right?

"I can still come if you want," I rushed, looking down at the clock in my car for the first time and grimacing at the revelation that the 'something else' in his tone had, in fact, been exhaustion.

"Although... I'm just now realizing its 2am and I definitely woke you up..."

"Typical," he joked, "you being out late, trying to make me jealous with age-appropriate boys."

My laugh bounced back at me from the walls of the car, and I covered my mouth once I remembered that I was still in a public area.

It was weird to me how whenever I talked to Spencer, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. I'd never felt that way with another person before. Those cheesy romcoms were all starting to make sense, and I hated how powerless that made me feel.

"I was not! Trust me, if I wanted to make you jealous, I could do much better," I humbly stated. It was only a little bit of a threat. "I just don't know why he did that. And of course, that picture, which I had deleted, by the way. He seriously had to get it from another folder. He just likes to torture me, I guess."

Spencer cleared his throat from the other side of the phone, readjusting before he clearly enunciated, "He likes you."

The statement wasn't shocking. Anyone who'd spent more than five minutes with the two of us knew that he probably liked me. I'd even considered exploring it at one point before smacking myself in the face and reminding myself of my standards.

But still, to have Spencer know that felt a little bit weird. After all, most 20-something boys would do anything to torture their friends. Even the girl ones. Especially the girl ones.

Then something else began to brew in my chest; a twisted sort of pleasure derived from the sharpness that had formed on Spencer's tongue. The jealousy creeping through the crackling static and wrapping its talons around my heart.

"... I don't know," I absently said.

He sensed the hesitancy in my voice, and asked back with a strange inflection, "Do you like him?"

I chewed on my bottom lip, closing my eyes as I dropped my head back against the headrest. I didn't want to answer that question honestly. I felt like nothing I said could be right. So, I just chose the closest thing to the truth.

"No, not really."

We were back in one of those awkward silences. The kind where we both wanted to say something, but nothing came out. I turned my car on when the stale, stagnant air became too suffocating. The sound alerted him to enough information for him to speak again.

"Are you heading home?"

I switched my phone to the other hand, trying to delay giving my answer by sounding busy. I didn't really have a reason, I just hadn't wanted to hang up yet.I wanted to stall him and selfishly keep him around just a little bit longer.

"Yeah, I guess."

Super smooth. I could still salvage it though.

"...Unless you've changed your mind and would like a personal space heater in bed with you."

Spencer's laughter would have been offensive if it wasn't so adorable.

"Yeah right, your feet are freezing. I don't even know how you still have toes."

That checked out, and also gave me an escape from the terrifying prospect of ending the call.

"I'll wear socks!" I offered with the utmost enthusiasm, "I actually own thigh highs, you know. If you're into that, Professor."

It had been a few weeks since our tryst, but I had hardly ever stopped thinking about it. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I'd traced the marks he'd left behind with an ungodly powerful nostalgia.

His laughter turned to frustrated groans as he mumbled, "Are you trying to torture me?"

Once our ruckus died back down, the silence was more serious than strange. I felt the urge to apologize again. I needed him to hear the sincerity behind what were so often empty words.

"I'm really sorry I missed your message, Spencer."

My voice was quiet, unsure, and scared. I didn't want to lose him, and I knew an extreme on either side of the emotional spectrum would let him slip away so easily.

It was exhausting being emotionally lukewarm, but some part of me wanted to believe that it would be worth it with him. That patience was all it would take to show him why he had nothing to be afraid of.

But where I showed mercy, he showed himself to lack it in any sense of the word.

"It's fine, (y/n). I'm not your boyfriend. If I really want the company, I can find it."

That wasn't why I was sorry, and what he'd said only made it worse. The ugly, resentful part of myself was convinced that was why he'd said it at all.

We both knew I didn't want him to find it with someone else. That was the entire reason I was sorry I missed it. If I missed his call, nothing was stopping him from making another one. I hadn't ever asked if there were other girls in his life, but I definitely didn't want to find out like that.

"I missed you the past couple weeks. I still do."

The genuineness in my voice scared me. I hated being vulnerable; especially when he was already so apprehensive about me. I wished I knew why he was. But at that moment, he was being his usual playful self, not willing to give me any hint of an answer in exchange for my candor.

No, just: "You're so good at whining."

I pouted like he would be able to see it.

"I just want some cuddles. Is that too much to ask?"

"Go ask your boyfriend, I'm sure he would be more than happy to oblige," he quipped.

"He's not as good at it as you are," I deflected, playing off the suddenly obvious jealousy in his tone. Before I could rub my quick wit in his face, however, Spencer raised a white flag that I'd never seen coming.

"Fine. I'll wait up."

That was when I realized that he had been more jealous than I'd thought, and I still had a startling amount of power to play with.

But I was still unable to comprehend it, and with a graceless gasp, I chirped, "Wait really? I can come over?"

An unsure laugh and an almost audible shrug later, he responded, "Sure, I figure it'll get me to bed faster somehow, as opposed to staying on this call."

I didn't hesitate to start to pull my car out of the spot, happily singing into the phone, "Okay! I'm on my way! Bye Spencer!"

"See you soon."

—————————————————

As I was old enough to be able to tell time, and aware enough to recognize that it was incredibly too late to be knocking on an apartment door, I tried to do so softly. I halfway succeeded, stifling the noise enough that he could still hear it, but his neighbors wouldn't. They would remain unaware of the girl bouncing on her toes outside of his door, squealing the second she heard shuffling feet on the other side.

Jesus Christ, I sound like a teenager, the more sensible side of me noted.

I might've felt shame, had he not opened the door in that very moment to reveal himself, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and pajamas on that were big enough they his half his hands.

He was... in a word, adorable.

"Hey sleepyhead," I cooed.

Spencer remained silent, but offered his arm in a halfhearted invitation for a hug. The blanket hung like a wing that I very much wanted to wrap myself in, and he was all too happy to allow. I actually giggled as I lunged towards him. I wrapped both arms around him and breathed in the clean scent of laundry detergent and soap.

"I'm sleepy, too," I said with a relieved sigh. The air was quickly replaced with that which smelled of him. So, too, the silence filled with a soft chuckle as he pulled me close to him and rested his chin on the top of my head.

Like a man from a fairy tale, he started to sway, slowly turning us around until we were headed in the right direction. The right one, of course being the one that would lead to us falling in bed together again.

"Alright, little girl, you can come crawl into bed with me tonight."

The words were like music to my ears, and I felt like I was floating. I was glowing, my skin flushed with warmth like a wood fire on a cold Winter night, and my eyes fell half lidded from some mixture of tired and pleased.

"Thank you, sir," I slurred through a smile. It grew wider as he took my hands, prying me away from him to lead me back to his room with more purpose.

Once we finally padded over, I dropped my overnight bag on the floor and began to strip off my shirt. He eyed the bag on the floor with a feeling I could almost place.

"Were you planning on staying with him?"

I felt a pain through my chest as he asked, because I knew the answer. I had been, but only because I'd done it so many times before. Our mutual friend wasn't in the house, so I knew I could use his bed. But saying I was planning on staying there alone sounded even more suspicious.

"Yeah. I've stayed there before. Always in a different room. We've been friends a long time."

There was something about the way he looked at me that made my stomach flip in a delicious way. A feeling that could only be described as dangerous and exhilarating. But then it was gone, replaced by the apathy he usually tried to display. I continued to strip, nonetheless, slowly peeling my leggings down and stepping out of them. I could feel his eyes on me.

I twisted by body in the hope that the movement would distract him from the conversation I hadn't really wanted to have. Jealousy, while a fun tool for the consenting, had a tendency to grow old quickly. It was a beast that did not like to be controlled; especially when taken by surprise.

But he had no reason to be jealous. I had all but begged him to come over, and I was currently naked in his bedroom. I didn't even look up at him before sliding under the covers. I was too scared for what I might find, and opted for enjoying the lingering body heat and smell of Spencer on the sheet, instead.

"I don't want to know how good you are when you're trying," he warned.

I looked up at him with guilty eyes, recognizing this was his gentle way of telling me he was jealous. But he'd said it himself... He wasn't my boyfriend.

"Come here," I pleaded while running my arms along the empty space where he belonged. "I'll show you why you shouldn't be jealous."

Spencer licked his lips as he looked at my exposed chest, pulling off his pajamas and slinking under the covers with me. Facing each other, my hands quickly found his erection, pumping it softly as he immediately rewarded me with a soft moan.

"I missed this," I whispered, closing the gap between our faces.

He responded in kind, taking his time to lay a lazy kiss against my mouth while he groaned, "I missed your hands. Among other parts."

As he spoke, his hand was traveling down my side to my center. My breathing picked up as he got closer, but he diverted, running his fingers up and down my arms that continued to work his length. The soft whimper that escaped my mouth entertained him, and he brought his hand back down.

"Say please, (y/n)."

I couldn't talk though. I was biting down on my lip to stop myself from telling him I fucking hated him for teasing me. With big puppy dog eyes, I watched him while I chewed on my bottom lip.

"Stop biting on that lip or I'll do it for you. I don't care how cute you are."

His hand now ghosted over exactly where I wanted them, and he used the very tip of his finger to collect the wetness forming there. My hands stopped as he made contact, my grip tightening for a second.

"Say please."

He wanted me to beg for him to touch me, but I didn't want his hand. It was almost 3 AM and I was exhausted and needed him. All of him, immediately. Badly enough that

"Fuck me, sir," the words spilled out of my mouth. "Please, fuck me."

A content humming came from him as he brought a hand to my hair. But the pleased sound lulled me into a false sense of security, which was shattered seconds later when he pulled my head back to look him in the eyes.

From there, I could see that look in his eyes again. That dark, possessive stare that made me long for the shadows to consume me if it meant more time with him.

"I p-promise," I stuttered as one of his fingers teased at my folds.

He raised his eyebrows as he waited for me to finish my thought.

With a cruel, sadistic smile, I continued, "I promise I won't think of anyone else."

That playful characteristic snark that has originally driven him to me had returned, and he pretended to be disappointed. He liked it, though. He wouldn't admit it, but the way I read the secret, hidden thoughts in his mind like he could read one of his book clearly drove him insane.

He guided me by his hold on my hair, lifting me off the pillow and not taking a minute to consider the repercussions before growling in my ear, "Turn around."

I obeyed, happily pressing up against his crotch as I settled into my position as his little spoon. I noticed a distinct lack of a pause this time, and gears began to click together as I felt him rub the bare head of his cock in the slickness pooling around my thighs.

"I have some questions for you, little girl."

He was pissed.

"When was the last time you got tested?"

I could hardly think straight as I realized where this was going. I tried to gather my thoughts and enough control to stutter back, "L-last week. I-I haven't... haven't slept with anyone else. Not since you."

My answer earned me a tender kiss on the neck, but it wasn't enough. I was trying to still my hips from knocking back against him. I couldn't completely stop myself, though, and I knew it made him feel even more confident about his decision.

"Good. Me neither," he replied.

I sighed with relief, happy to at least answer that question. I'd barely had any time to recover, though, before he continued, "Is there any way you could get pregnant right now?"

I shook my head no. He stopped my head with one hand on my chin from behind.

"Use your words."

"No!" I half shouted, realizing I just sounded like a brat. "No, no I can't. I'm on birth control. I won't get pregnant. Promise. You can..."

My breath matched pace with my heart, and I swore I was already lightheaded. Still, I forced the last few words through the heavy panting to earn my next, far more enticing prize. The magic words he had been waiting for:

"You can do whatever you want to me."

When he released my hair, my head fell forward just for a second, because soon my entire back arched in response to the way he began to push inside of me.

"Good," was all he'd said.

With that, he fully sheathed himself inside of me, and I cried out as I felt the way he stretched me. His hand swiftly covered my mouth before he began to pound into me from behind. One of my hands tried to keep me in place on the bed, while the other flew up to his hand over my mouth, holding it without trying to remove it.

I was calling his name underneath him, and he responded by making shorter, deeper thrusts.

Through it all, he chuckled in my ear, "It's always funny how fast you stop acting like a brat after I put it in you."

My eyes rolled back at his words, breath shuddering against his hand. He slid all the way out of me, and then applied enough force to push me up in the bed.

"Have you ever had someone finish inside you before?" he asked too sweetly for the provocative words. He moved his hand from my mouth and dragged it to move the hair that had fallen in front of my face.

I went to shake my head but remembered his instruction. Instead, I cried, "N-no."

"Good," he responded again, and my toes curled at the pride he felt in claiming this body as his own. He took my hand in his, pulling it down to feel the small bump forming in my abdomen each time he slammed into me. The next time it appeared, he halted, holding me in position against him. "I'm going to fuck you so hard that the next time anyone even thinks about touching you, all they'll taste on you is me."

He pulled out slowly before pounding into me again. With more violence in his motions and venom on his tongue, he spat, "and if you want them you can explain to them how you begged for me to come inside your tight little cunt."

I was in a state of shock, unable to comprehend how he was capable of making such cruel, licentious words. Each one made my body shake, and he kept himself inside me longer with each motion to extend the feeling. I ached at the way he filled me, desperately clinging to my own stomach where I could feel him.

"Good luck thinking about anyone else while I run down your thighs," he said before punctuating it with a firm, unforgiving, "you fucking bitch."

With that, he finally moved his hand, but it was not a merciful action. His fingers rubbed in the mess of our bodies, then dragged the wetness back to my clit, pressing harder than he ever had before. My head was still swimming from his language, and I thankfully didn't have to use my words. He was very capable of figuring out my body language himself.

I could feel the way the heat coiled in my stomach, the tension building as his mouth ran along my neck. Once he attached himself to one spot, driving into me at a brutal pace, I felt the energy shift and begin to blossom. Feeling the way my muscles quivered around him, he stopped his kisses, groaning loudly in my ear.

"Fuck, little girl," he continued to moan, his thrusts faltering as I tried to coax his orgasm out of him. It seemed to be what he was waiting for. Unable to contain the shrill cry that tore from my chest as his arousal filled me, I tried to pull away from him. But I couldn't, his hands holding me down and his hips rocking as deep as they could possibly move inside of me.

Exhausted, I tried to move away from him once his movements stilled. However, in another surprising move he slid out just to slam back into me again.

I whimpered from the overstimulation, doubling forward as he gave a few more deep, rough thrusts before pulling out entirely.

I had no idea how, but Spencer immediately got out of bed. He left me a sweaty, desperate mess on his bed. Thankfully, he tossed me a towel to help me clean up so I wouldn't have to sleep in the puddle dripping slowly down my legs. Shaky but satisfied, I somehow managed to make it to the bathroom and clean up.

When I returned, he was still awake. He was silent, sitting up in the bed with his eyes closed and contemplative. As I shut the door, he finally noticed my presence. He turned to look at me with an awkward smile until he pat my spot on the bed.

"Come here, little girl."

A little too excited, I shuffled over with a bounce in my step. Not satisfied with simply lying next to him, I curled into his side, wrapping my arm around his waist and nuzzling my face to his chest. From there, I listened to the way his heartbeat seemed to slow down with my touch. How his muscles relaxed under me, like he had been anxiously awaiting my return the same way I had been waiting to return to him.

"You're not really a bitch," he mumbled in a quiet, sleepy voice.

I couldn't help but laugh, tilting my head up to glance at him from my position on his chest.

"I mean, I am a little bit. But I know what you mean."

He wrapped a tight arm around me, using his hand to run softly through my hair. Leaning down, he gave the top of my head a small peck. I smiled against his skin, loving the way it felt to be surrounded by him. To be safe and cared for despite all else.

"Thank you for coming here with me tonight," he said in a low volume, like the words might spook me. "You're a very special girl. I hope you know that."

I didn't know how to respond, so I stayed frozen in place. I waited to hear the rest of what he wanted to say. People have always said we're most honest at night. I wanted it to be true, to give more meaning to loaded words.

"I'm really glad I met you," was what he said.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the words that felt like a balm on my aching soul. Unable to come up with a response that wasn't terrifying, though, I sat up and crawled to him. It was my turn to return a tender kiss, this time to his lips. As we pulled apart, he still looked at me like the answers to the universe were written on my skin.

I went to kiss him again, but he stopped me with a hand on my face.

"Don't..." he instructed, breaking my heart with just one command.

But I saw the fear reflected in our eyes, the kind that was deeper than a simple rejection. It was not the fear that we might not love one another. It was the fear that we very well might one day.

Spencer said none of that, though. He left me to forever wonder if it was just me who felt it. Instead, he surrendered with a simpler, safer explanation.

"If you kiss me like that again, I won't be able to stop myself."

I didn't ask what he was stopping himself from doing. No matter how badly I wanted to. Instead, I ran the back of my fingers against his cheek and whispered in the space between us, "Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again."

My desired outcome came true, but not quite how I wanted. He didn't kiss me deep or passionately. He kissed me soft, like my lips were made of glass. He kissed me like he was protecting me from the terrors of his mind.

"Go to sleep, little girl," he instructed gently, coaxing me back to my position on his chest as we both sunk down to lay flat on the bed. "Picard can wait."

Laying there, next to what I was convinced was an actual human angel, I gave myself permission to drift off into sleep, hoping that my dreams could be half as good as reality.

That didn't happen.

I wasn't sure what time it was when I woke up, but it was still dark outside, so it couldn't have been too long after we'd fallen asleep. Spencer had turned away from me at some point. That wasn't strange or entirely surprising, but I noticed a strange sound from his side of the bed that made my hair stand on edge and my stomach churn.

It was... crying.

"Spencer?" I asked as quiet as I could. When he didn't respond, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder in the hope that it would be an easier transition to the waking word.

But his body still jerked under my touch, and he sat up much too quickly before grabbing his face in both hands. It wasn't until then that he noticed, drawing his hands back slowly and inspecting the wetness he found on his fingertips.

"Hey, Spencer, are you okay?"

He didn't answer.

Suddenly extremely worried, I brought both of my hands to his arms and pulled him closer to me.

He still didn't answer.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

So many red flags were burning through my brain, and I didn't know what to do with the information in front of me. I just wanted to help him.

"I... I must have been. I'm sorry," he said when he finally spoke. He wiped at his tears like he could erase what I had already seen. Moving his hands away, careful to keep my touch as non-threatening as possible, I wiped his still falling tears away with my thumb.

"Why are you sorry, Spencer?"

"I... don't know."

It was an honest, but terrifying answer. A quickly completed checklist of a horror I was deeply familiar with. A reality that I wouldn't wish it on anyone in the world. Especially not him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he replied with a force so strong I thought the word was physically painful for him to say.

"Okay," I reassured him, "We don't have to."

He wasn't laying back down. He wasn't moving at all. It was like he was somewhere else entirely.

I moved closer to him, placing a hand on his back to gently rub circles and another on his lap. I offered the only thing I could think to help him in that moment.

"Do you want me to hold you?"

His eyes were fixated on my hand on his lap, his breathing slowly regulating the longer we sat like this.

Still, he halfway refused, "It's okay."

Raising my hand again, I ran it through his hair before guiding him to look at me with a tentative smile.

"You're not a burden, Spencer. I want to."

The tears were falling again, albeit slower and with his mouth curved ever so slightly. I tried to give him the calmest reassurance I could. A soft glow in my eyes that burned with the affection and comfort I desperately wanted to provide.

"Come here, love," I said as I motioned to me.

Spencer dutifully followed. Soon his head was on my chest, my hand curling his hair around my fingers. He hugged my waist like I was the only thing keeping him here.

And I laid there with him, trying not to think about the way his tears wet my skin. Hoping that, for now, it would be enough for him to get some sleep.

A mop of curly brown hair was the first thing I saw when I woke up to the shine of the sun through the curtains. I smiled, but only until I remembered why he was on my chest.

It was obvious that he had barely slept, his muscles continuing to persistently twitch in their paranoid state. When I went to pet his head again, he stirred under me, pulling himself closer to me the same way he had before.

I didn't want to think about what had happened, but I knew I had to. Normal people don't wake up crying from a nightmare, and they certainly don't get painfully defensive when it happens.

I hadn't known practically anything about his life before. What he had been through, or whether he'd told anyone at all. I hadn't even known if he'd anyone to tell.

I was painfully reminded that he was not the superhero I made him out to be in my head. He was just a man, trying his hardest to do more good in the world than all the evil combined. That was an impossible task, though. He was doomed to fail.

His ears must have been burning, because the longer I thought about it, the more he woke up. Eventually he was entirely alert, sitting up and removing himself from the position we'd assumed for the past several hours.

I was surprised to remember what it felt like to be able to breathe without the weight of him on top of me. I was even more surprised to feel my chest felt heavier in his absence.

"Good morning," I mumbled, watching as he effortlessly got out of bed and began to get ready.

He seemed embarrassed, but he really shouldn't have been.

"Did you get any sleep?"I asked.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair before he turned back to me, a smile on his face like nothing was wrong.

"No," he sighed, "This brat woke me up at 2 AM and insisted I sleep with her."

It was nice to know he was still capable of joking but concerning to see that he was so good at compartmentalizing. I laughed along with him, nonetheless, sliding out of the bed to join him in getting dressed.

"What a bitch," I said with a smirk.

As hard as it was to pretend like the night before hadn't happened, I knew that he wasn't ready to talk about it. Heaven knew it would have been much worse to burn the bridge then. At least if I built the trust now, he might be willing to talk about it later.

"You know, I wasn't actually going to tell you to come over last night," Spencer announced.

The 360 of the conversation took me by surprise, and I blinked rapidly to try and reorient myself.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm glad you did. But I was actually going to ask you if you're free tonight."

Spencer was nothing if not an emotional rollercoaster demanding passengers before 10AM. Ready to roll bright and fuckin' early.

"Yeah, I am. If you're still wondering," I answered in place of the multitude of questions I hadn't been ready to ask yet. Questions like, why was he wondering? Why did he need to schedule this? Was this another 'not-a-date' date?

"I wanted to take you somewhere," he mentioned casually, finally fully dressed while I still struggled to put on my clothes.

"Where?"

"It's a surprise," he said with raised eyebrows, like he was so very proud of himself.

I'd let him have that one, but only because he was so damn cute.

"Fine. That means I have to go home to get cleaned up first, then."

He seemed only a little disappointed by that, but overall acquiesced. I was a little sad about it, too, but remained confident in the old adage that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Besides, I wanted to look cute for my surprise.

We hadn't talked much before I left. I could tell he was still struggling with coming to terms with what he'd accidentally revealed to me in the middle of the night.

Honestly, it was a good thing I left. The desire to talk about it was overwhelming, and some things are better left unsaid...

For now, I promised myself. Just for now.

—————————————————

Spencer came to pick me up without a hitch. When I climbed into his car, I fully expected him to not tell me where we were going. I was right; he didn't. Of course, after about 30 minutes I recognized the route we were going. When I'd graciously pointed it out to him with increasingly less subtle suggestions, he still refused to give me a single hint.

That was, until we pulled into Observatory parking lot.

"I've never been here before!" I squeaked. My excitement had been obvious enough with the embarrassing crack, and Spencer's interest in my enthusiasm only grew.

He was looking at me with that soft, slightly saccharine smile.

"I figured. You aren't nerdy enough to go by yourself," he chuckled. The genuineness behind the sound made the already excited butterflies in my stomach begin to swarm.

"Hey, I can be cultured too, you know," I still corrected with the worst posh accent you've ever heard.

With a teasing smile on his face, the stupid man chose to look away rather than to admit his honest reaction to the statement.

Asshole, I thought, only to be proven wrong seconds later. Forever a gentleman, Spencer joined me on my side of the car and took utmost care and attention to help me out from my seat.

It felt strange, to adorn his arm like something beautiful as we gazed at the stars together. I tried not to think about it, but wondered just how far he was willing to risk being seen with me in an undoubtedly romantic setting.

"Isn't this place usually closed to the public? I know they have limited general admission days," I asked, despite already knowing the answer. I just wanted to see if my hunch was correct.

"Yeah, I might have called in a favor or two."

Fuck, was my first thought. The next twelve thoughts, however, were all reiterations of 'Don't get your hopes up.'

My grip on his arm tightened, but he didn't seem to mind. I'd guessed that his nonchalance was entirely due to the private nature of the excursion, but I wasn't going to ask, and I certainly wouldn't complain. I was happy enough that he'd brought me, even if he wasn't ready to admit why. I could be patient. Sometimes.

Once inside, Spencer knew exactly where to go. I watched in awe at how many people knew who he was, and how much they looked up to him. While I had also always been impressed by him, it'd become easy to forget just how impressive he was when all the time we'd spent together was so far away from the rest of the world.

But Spencer's quiet humility certainly wasn't an issue that night. He spent nearly two hours walking me through what ended up being essentially all the stars in the sky. Much like the museum, it consisted of me adoring both the content of his words and the man himself.

He told me the story of the vain Queen Cassiopeia and her doting husband Cepheus, still holding each other in the stars millennia later. He spoke enthusiastically and with no sense of pacing. Half the time my eyes left the telescope, turning instead to marvel at the way he moved his hands and fidgeted with his hair as his voice tumbled out of him like it couldn't be contained.

It was just the two of us in the room when he finished, the dim lights and quiet ambiance catching up with me as I stared at him with all the reverence in the universe above us. He eventually finished his thoughts on Perseus and Andromeda, and I could tell by the look on his face that their love story meant something to him.

"You're quite the romantic, Dr. Reid."

He seemed surprised by the sentiment, like it was something he'd never heard before, and now he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. So, he simply laughed awkwardly and moved closer to peer into the telescope.

Whether it was because he felt a stronger connection to the extraterrestrial, or because he simply didn't want me to see that he was blushing, I didn't mind either way. A few less seconds under the scrutiny of his gaze would do my heart well.

"Not sure many people would use that word," he said under his breath when he worked up the courage to speak.

"Well, I did," I replied much more confidently.

He was smiling but trying to hide it the same as the pink hue to his cheeks.

"You said you were 14 when you went to college, right?" I said with narrow eyes, trying to read him from under the large machine.

"Yeah," he responded with an equal dose of caution, "... why?"

"Probably didn't go to prom then, huh?"

His answer was obvious from the way his entire body jumped. Knocking his head on the telescope as he rushed to give an answer, all his mouth would produced was a long, dumb, "Uhhh."

I knew he was about to try to run away. Before he could, I stopped him. With both hands on his arm, I kept him close. Eventually, his muscles gave in and accepted my embrace.

"Come on; dance with me," I begged.

He looked around the room for an excuse. There was no one there, just the two of us on arguably the most heartwarming date I've ever been on in my life.

"There's no music," he scrambled, eventually admitting, "aaand I can't dance."

Ignoring the pitter-pattering of a childish, lovesick heart, I laughed.

"I can teach you, Dr. Reid."

We both knew he wasn't getting out of this one. As I hopped down from the stool, I revealed my secret weapon from my pocket. I pulled up a playlist that I knew would suit him and the setting, and I held out my hand in an invitation that couldn't be refused.

"I have all the world of music at my fingertips. Now I just need you. "

Spencer groaned, but behind it all I saw an undeniable happiness. When he put his hand in mine, it too felt like warmth and safety. I took it with an even brighter grin, immediately bringing him closer to sway slowly to the music coming from my phone now seated on the stool.

The acoustics of the room let the music flow through, and within moments we had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. My cheek rested against his chest and I couldn't help but laugh.

"You lied to me, Dr. Reid. You definitely know how to dance."

"Okay, but does it really count if you've only ever done it with your mom?" he asked.

I threw my head back as I laughed, and he joined me. The two of us shamelessly filled the large room with a warmth not entirely unlike a far away star.

"Don't laugh at me!" he pouted, but I think he actually enjoyed the sound.

"I'm sorry," I whined, "you're just so fucking cute I don't know how to handle it."

Finally able to stifle the joyous sounds, I looked up at him with even more fascination than I'd showed the stars. I'm not sure what I had expected, but it wasn't what I'd found. Because Spencer's eyes were like mirrors facing the sun; reflecting the passions I spewed so carelessly right back at me.

"There are over a million words in the English language, and I still can't think of a single combination to explain how I feel about you."

Just like that, he'd stolen my breath and my sense. My smile fell into a look of smitten shock, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince my heart to fall back into its rhythm.

"I-I'm surprised you don't know the exact number," I said with an awkward chuckle.

"Well, some estimate that it's 1,025,109, but new words are created constantly, and it would depend on what actually counts as a new word. Not to mention the different dialects, words that have fallen out of common use, or words that may be used for entirely different purposes despite being the same."

I raised my eyebrows, not at all surprised that he had an answer, but excited to hear it, nonetheless.

"But it doesn't matter," he whispered, impervious to just how much he was breaking my heart. "Because no matter the number, I know it won't be enough."

My eyes lit up like the stars we had just spent hours staring at, and I wondered if he could tell. He must have. Because his hand on my hip pulled me closer, and our hands intertwined as our pace slowed to a stop. Our breath was unsteady as he came closer to me, pausing just before our lips touched.

We shared the oxygen between us, daring the other to do what we both know we shouldn't.

So I did, leaning up to kiss him as my hand slid up his arm and around his neck. His hesitation melted into the embrace, our tongues gently sharing space in an entirely new way.

I thought to the millions of stars in the sky, realizing that I shared Spencer's skepticism of an unknown number. Because no matter how many stars there were, I knew there would never be enough to outshine that moment between the two of us.

It was not a hurried or excited kiss. It was an amorous, amazing promise of a kiss. It was the kind of kiss that they wrote about in Corinthians. It was patient and kind. It was not proud nor self-seeking. Spencer's free hand held my face against his; the way they wrote that love always protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres.

Did he feel the way he was kissing me? Because I had.

I felt it like a storm, the breeze blowing the air from my lungs and breaking down the walls around me. I held onto him and this moment, scared of what this meant for us. How could I pretend like we were just friends when I shook for days at his touch?

That was why I was the one to end the kiss, looking down away from him as I did. A soft, defeated chuckle as I took a deep breath. When our eyes met again, I lowered my arms to his chest, listening to the soft tunes still floating through the room.

"We should go home now," I whispered.

He was reading my reactions; I could feel it. And in doing so, he had lowered his own walls too far. I could see them behind his eyes.

My voice shook as I continued, "... before you do something else to try and make me fall in love with you."

Spencer didn't look scared as he replied with a cheeky little grin, "Why, is it working?"

I almost passed out at the way his eyes softened at my goofy smile.

"I'm kidding," he immediately followed.

I rolled my eyes at the absolute bullshit of a lie. I tried to play it off like it was nothing, but my heart felt like it would fall out of my chest. I tried not to think about it too hard as we made our way back to the car.

As he helped me in, I realized that we were really going to continue acting like none of that just happened. I tried to think of how that kiss we shared could be written off, but I couldn't. That was not the kind of kiss between friends. It was not the kind of kiss between strangers.

It was a kiss of the kind we both implicitly promised not to talk about.

Once the trip home had begun, I gathered the courage to tread lightly.

"So, what was the fantasy for tonight?" I innocently asked.

A little confused, he glanced over at me, careful not to take his eyes off the road.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've found each time we're together there's some sexual component," I chuckled. "This is pretty far from home, and you seemed very into it. I was just wondering what inspired this trip."

I was trying to avoid obviously ogling his reactions by shifting my eyes from him every few seconds. I had leaned against the door, surprised by just how tired I really was. He was doing that thing where he weighed his words again.

Eventually, he shrugged. That softness returning to his features from before, he began, "To be honest, (y/n)..."

Please, don't break my heart, I begged to that beautiful man.

Actually turning his head entirely to me, he spoke through a delicate smile, "I just wanted to look at the stars with you."

Goddammit.

The stars returned to my eyes, and I could see them reflected in his. My heart sped up to prepare for the panic as I realized that it was definitely too late for us. Because his efforts were working. They had been working all along, and I never tried to stop them.

As I drifted off to sleep in the comfortable silence of our company, I couldn't ignore the obvious:

I think I'm in love with Spencer Reid and I think he's starting to love me, too.

But we couldn't just love each other in isolation, and I wasn't sure he was ready to make that leap with me. In fact, I knew he wasn't. I still knew basically nothing about him, and he knew virtually nothing about me. How could it be then, that our souls felt so at home with each other?

Which would hurt more? Finding out he didn't love me, or that he did... and just wishes he didn't?

—————————————————

| Part 6 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #h2m #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #smut

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yehet-me-up · 4 years ago

Text

Fractions of Tomorrow

Pairing: Zitao/Reader (female)

Word Count: 10,249

Rating/Warnings: PG13

Summary: They always say opposites attract but you and Tao are putting that theory to the test. He works nights at Flanagan’s, you work the crack of dawn shift at Starbucks. He wears leather jackets, sings in a rock band, and drives a motorcycle. You prefer Keds to Chucks, study poetry at UW, and ride a pastel purple bike across town. Luckily, he’s not someone who’s afraid of a challenge.

When Baekhyun dares you and Tao to test the idea that two people can fall in love in one night you don’t expect to care so much, so fast. And when the sun rises all you can hope is that he feels the same.

Part seven of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

February 28, 1997

His head aches, body still reeling from the alcohol he drank far too much of the night before. The line at Starbucks is endlessly long and he groans. If he was responsible he’d go to the grocery across the street and get a decent breakfast. But his brain needs a substitute for the gin he was coerced into last night by his friends and it will only accept caffeine as an offering.

A saccharine song pours in from the speakers and people around him clear their throats or rustle in their pockets and the sheer noise of the morning grates against him. He’s a creature of the night; he finds other humans far more tolerable without the sun beating down on him. Only desperation pulled him from his hangover to acquire the nectar of the gods. He taps his foot and shrugs his jacket further up his body, hoping the collar will keep the bright light pouring in from the tall windows from reaching him.

A sweet voice breaks through the din and he turns to watch you, drawn by the warmth of the sound. It’s not his first time here, but it’s his first time paying attention. In the thriving ecosystem of the Exodus Mall everyone’s a friend of a friend of a cousin of someone and he distantly remembers you’re related to one of Baekhyun’s friends.

Maybe it’s the way early mornings after late nights distort the world, making everything feel hazy like a dream. Maybe it’s the fact that he went home alone last night, yet again. Maybe it’s the bright, energetic shine in your eyes, astounding for the pre-eight-am time. Or maybe it’s the dimple in your cheek when you smile at the customer, writing his name on the cup and passing it to your co-workers.

When the man moves aside and you turn your focus on Tao, for whatever reason, his intuition tells him to notice. Maybe it’s an illusion, but today feels different. You feel different.

‘Hi, welcome to Starbucks. What can I get you?’

He opens his mouth, unsure what to say. For a long beat he simply observes you. The little hearts drawn around your name on your name tag. He rolls it around in his mind, matching your face with the word, almost saying it aloud. A dangerous proposition. A door he should leave shut.

Someone coughs behind him and he shakes his head, stepping forward. ‘Just a big Americano please. As big as possible.’ His voice is thick and his throat dry. One day he’ll remember to drink a glass of water before bed after getting drunk.

You nod, reaching to the stack of cups. ‘A grande?’

He swallows to wet his throat. ‘Sure.’

‘Name?’

With a deep inhale he smells last night’s cologne still clinging to his skin. God he needs to get his shit together, he thinks with a sigh. His general state of dishevelment is even more noticeable next to you. He wonders if you ironed the collar of your shirt to be that precise or if you simply move through the world without acquiring any wrinkles.

‘Zitao,’ he says finally.

‘Cute.’ You say it under your breath but he still hears. His eyes go wide, his sluggish mind coming awake. After handing the cup to your co-worker you say the total. ‘That’ll be four oh two please.’

Automatically he reaches into his pocket for his wallet and pulls out the five dollar bill. He knows he’s staring like an idiot but he can’t help it. You hand him his change and on reflex he drops it into the tip jar. Service industry solidarity, he thinks with a half-smile.

The smile on your face blossoms; tentative at first, it grows when his eyes meet yours again. ‘Thank you!’ You pull a small coffee can out from beside the register and hold it out to him. ‘Anyone who tips gets a poem.’

He stares at the can and the slips of paper neatly folded within. Amusement fills him and he reaches for one at random, his fingers brushing yours as he pulls back. The sensation makes him want to linger. How long has it been since he touched someone, in the daylight? Since he wanted to hold and be held? Tao tells himself it doesn’t matter. It can’t. He’s got plans to leave Seattle and he doesn’t need anything tethering him here.

Before he embarasses himself he slides the paper into his pocket with a nod and moves on down the line. As he waits for his drink he keeps his focus on you. The efficiency of your motions and the genuine happiness on your face as you take order after order on the busy Friday morning. People come and go around him but he leans against the wall, waiting, thinking.

Finally his drink is done and the cup spreads heat along his chilled palms. The world is too sharp and demanding and the thought of a day full of errands on too little sleep followed by a full shift at the bar drags at him. But the smell of coffee and your smile and the mystery poem in his pocket are life preservers thrown to him today. He clings to them with both hands to keep himself afloat.

On his way out he finally reads the poem you’ve gifted to him. The writing is done with small, neat lettering and he knows it’s yours.

There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.

There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled.

You feel it, don’t you?

- Rumi

With a groan he pushes out the door with his shoulder, blinking on the too-bright sidewalk. It’s too early to feel so raw and exposed, he decides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday July 18, 1997

You trail into Flanagan’s Pub after Baekhyun and your sister, Hitchcock. It’s not her real name, but she’s had the nickname so long it might as well be. As always, they argue about movies. As always, you’re the third wheel. Not that they’re actually dating. But everyone agrees they should.

‘Come on, it was brilliant.’ Baekhyun waves his hands dramatically as you wind your way around the crowded bar after them.

‘I’m not saying it wasn’t,’ she responds. They slide into a booth opposite each other and you follow after your sister. ‘All I’m saying is it’s unrealistic, that’s all.’

Baekhyun scoffs, offended. ‘As if realism was the point here.’ You unfold the drink menu while he carries on, undeterred. ‘I know you’re not a hopeless romantic like myself, but are you honestly telling me that you don’t think it’s possible?’

Tonight’s Friday-movie-night tradition was your first viewing of The Fifth Element and Korben and Leeloo’s instant connection has revived their years-long argument about love at first sight. You roll your eyes when your sister shakes her head, leaning forward to tease him. She’s told you about her crush on Baekhyun, her best friend. For someone who’s been in love for as long as you can remember she fights awfully hard against Baekhyun’s romantic nature. Methinks the lady doth protest too much…

‘Look at Before Sunrise,’ Baekhyun says with a click of his tongue. ‘One night and they fell in love.’

She hums and scans the menu. ‘So what? It’s just one night. Show me what happens ten years later. After they see each other with messy morning hair and when he leaves dishes in the sink or, I don’t know, when she bites her nails.’ Baekhyun huffs and she smothers a laugh. ‘Let’s see how that instant love does after it’s put to the test. I’m not saying it isn’t possible, I’m just saying one night doesn’t mean it will stand the test of time, that’s all.’ She folds her menu and rests her elbows on the table, looking incredibly smug.

Baekhyun opens his mouth to argue but the server arrives and interrupts his tirade. ‘What can I get for you?’

The gravelly voice is familiar and your eyes widen in surprise when you see Tao towering over the table. Quickly you look away, back to the dark wood table.

You’ve noticed him before - at Starbucks, at parties at Baek’s from a distance, at Moe’s ages ago - but tonight he’s so cleaned up you hardly recognize him. Gone are the bags under his eyes and the nervous, jittery, curmudgeon energy that seemed to hang over him like a dark cloud. Tonight his eyes are alert and crinkle at the corner when he smiles broadly and you can’t help but notice. A very bad idea.

‘Hey man, how’s it going?’ Baekhyun reaches out and does a complex handshake with the man before you.

‘Oh, you know. Just working at the salt mines,’ Tao says with a laugh. ‘Are you coming to Chan and Soo’s party tomorrow night?’

‘You know it. I wouldn’t miss your big send off. My man here is taking off on a national tour on Sunday. Local boy making it big!’ Baekhyun gives Tao a friendly punch on the arm before drumming his fingers on the table and raising a brow. ‘Since you’re here, maybe you can settle an argument for us.’

Tao darts a look to you and clears his throat. ‘Sure thing. Lay it on me.’

‘Do you believe you can fall in love with someone in one night?’ Baekhyun waggles his brows at your sister and she groans. ‘Like, soulmates burning-down-the world you’re the person I’ve waited for always Blockbuster kind of love.’

He tilts his head to the side, considering. After a moment he shrugs. ‘I’m not sure.’ For a flash Tao’s eyes linger on you once more. ‘I think it would depend on the person.’ And then the bastard goes and winks at you.

Baekhyun snorts and lounges back in the booth, resting his arm on the back of the seat. 'Good luck, buddy. You'd have better luck charming a brick wall. She only reads about love these days, Double Shot here is a bit gun-shy at putting it into practice again.’

You glare at Baekhyun, body going rigid at being called out. For as long as he's been your sister's best friend he's acted like a surrogate older brother to you. He vacillates between telling you it’s good you’re so focused on your studies and telling you that you're too serious, too focused on school and work. Since you got broken up with Baekhyun seems focused on the latter, always needling you to go out and have fun. But, as they say, once burned twice shy.

You focus intently on your hands resting on the table and absolutely avoid looking at Tao. From the first time you rang him up at Starbucks you knew his gaze would see more than you'd like. He's the type to see through every bullshit line you give about how you’re fine being alone, fine with how things ended, fine fine fine.

If life was kind the three of you would order and Tao would leave and that would be the end of it. You could safely stay in your cocoon and hide. But of course, life doesn't play fair.

Tao sticks the pen behind his ear and folds his arms. ‘Is that a bet?’

Your cheeks warm and your heart races. Finally, you look up to him fully. 'Excuse me?'

He shrugs and gives you a lopsided smile. 'If you're game, of course. What do you say, shall we put this to the test?'

'You want to see if we'd fall in love in a night?' You're certain you look like a terrified animal. In a vain attempt to fold yourself back into someone confident you lean against the booth, pressing your feet to the ground and making your spine tall and straight. 'What makes you think you're even my type?'

‘Sweetheart, I’m everyone’s type.’

God knows he probably is. Tall, handsome bad boy who sings like an angel, drives a stupidly hot motorcycle, and looks like he knows the fastest way to make you come undone with just a look. But charming is only skin deep and in return you want to see if there’s anything underneath it that would keep your interest.

‘Fine, then.’ You hold out your hand. ‘I’ll take your bet.’ Stubborn, always so stubborn. Baekhyun giggles and claps excitedly as you grip Tao’s rough, much larger hand.

Your sister leans across you to stare Tao down. 'Hang on. I'm not about to let her go off with some random dude. How do we know you're trustworthy?' Hitchcock has turned her interrogation mode on. ‘I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know you from Bruce Willis.’

He must have other tables to attend to, other things to do, but he rests his palms on the table and leans down to meet her glare. 'I'm an open book. Ask me anything.' The move brings him inches from you. He smells like whisky, the kind that burns, and you swallow instinctively in response.

She narrows her eyes and hums. 'How old are you?'

'Twenty three.'

'Did you go to school?'

He chuckles. 'High school. No need for college.'

'Why not?' You speak up, preparing for an argument. He looks like he could actually keep up with you and a spark of excitement grows low in your body.

'Between singing and bartending I make plenty of money.’ He answers you, not your sister. ‘Don't get me wrong, I respect an education. But I get far more inspiration from living life than from just reading about it.'

You bristle. As a poetry major this feels like a personal attack. ‘Are you telling me you’ve never read anything that made you feel - I don’t know - inspired. Magical. Exposed?' You press your lips together, wishing you could gather the words back.

Tao looks at you through his lashes, bending close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips when he speaks. ‘Words are just the appetizer, darling. I prefer to have an entire feast.’

His dancing eyes dart down to your lips. But then he straightens, pulling the pen out and readying it on the pad. You grip the table to avoid swaying towards him and almost hate him for how much of a magnetic pull he seems to have over you. 'Any other questions or can I grab your orders?'

Baekhyun orders a Smirnoff Ice, delight pouring off him. Your sister narrows her eyes at Tao for a moment. Finally, she relents and orders a sex on the beach. You stare at the red plaid shirt tied around Tao’s hips and order something. An Appletini maybe? Your mind seems to have abandoned you but thankfully Tao nods and winds his way back through the crowd to the bar. In his absence you can breathe fully and look up to see Baekhyun smirking.

‘What?’ you practically groan at him.

‘Oh, nothing.’ He looks like the cat that caught the canary. ‘I just love being right.’

Hitchcock kicks him under the table and he winces, reaching for his shin. They resume their discussion, transitioning to talking about their opening shifts at the theater tomorrow and how much they can reasonably drink tonight and still be functional in the morning. You drum your nails on the lacquered wood table and wonder if your heart is racing from the heat of the packed bar or from the prospect of Tao holding you to your bargain.

The man himself comes back with drinks a moment later. When he slides the light green concoction across the table to you he tilts his head in question. ‘So, how about tonight?’

You choke on your sip and fight the burn in your throat. ‘Are you serious? So soon?’

He grins. ‘Why, did you want time to get ready? I think if we’re going to put it to the test it would have to be tonight. Also, I leave on Sunday morning, so the clock is ticking so to speak.’

‘But I work tomorrow at Starbucks. At the crack of dawn.’ You sputter, waving your hand in front of you. ‘I didn’t think you-’

‘Guess we should get started soon, then.' He winks again and you're tempted to throw your drink at him, just to get the upper hand. ‘I get off at nine.’ Without another word he puts the serving tray under his arm and leaves.

Your sister rolls her eyes. ‘You’re such a bad influence, Baek.’

He throws his arms out wide. ‘I can’t help it baby, I’m a lover. What can I say?’

She snorts and pats you on the back sympathetically. You down your drink in two swallows and absolutely refuse to look at Tao, Baekhyun, or your sister. Instead you pull some bills from your purse and push your way out of the bar before anyone can suggest anything else insane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes you several tries to find a presentable outfit. It's been more than six months since that last fateful date and in the time between you’ve built a literal barrier around yourself, bundling up in sweaters and blankets at home, only emerging for work and class and Friday movie nights.

Baekhyun's words come back to you as you frown and throw yet another outfit on the bed. Are you really a brick wall, impenetrable and cold? You weren't always, surely. Byron's 'and thus, the heart will break, yet brokenly live on' swims in your mind, still fresh from the finals you took just a few weeks ago.

You don't feel broken, just stuck. Numb. Waiting. You hold a dress up to your body and wonder if your ex feels the same or if he, as the one who did the dumping, moved on instantly, and it's just the broken-up-with half that flails around trying to find new footing.

With an defiant press of your lips you sigh and settle on your favorite black and white checkered dress and white Keds. It’s a declaration of intent in a peter pan collar. Your ex always hated your clothes, what you chose to study, your music; everything about you screamed soft and he tried so hard to bend and form you into someone he wanted.

But you are as you are - romantic and idealistic and sweet. You roll your eyes. It’s the truth, and you remind yourself that just because you didn’t match him doesn’t mean you have to change just to make someone else happy. The outfit screams innocence it dares Tao to judge you tonight. As if you care what he thinks. Which you definitely do not.

You barely make it back in time to Flanagan’s. When you rush up Tao is pushing out of the bar onto the street. A thrill runs down your spine at his smile when he sees you. Your ex doesn't control you anymore, you remind yourself. You get to decide when you move on; when you stop mourning something that's dead and over and find something new. Even if it's not with Tao, tonight is an experiment. To see if you can handle a fresh start.

‘Hi,’ you start, breathless from your hurrying.

'Hi yourself. You still game?' he asks, mischief in his eyes and hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. 'If you want an out I won't hold it against you.' He looks you up and down and smirks, but doesn’t comment on your appearance.

In return you scan him as well. His hair is mussed just-so and his earrings match too well to be an accident. He’s trying too, even if his devil-may-care attitude would make others think he’s not. Everyone has an image they present to the world, tonight you’ll find if there’s substance behind Tao’s.

You press your tongue between your teeth and tilt your head at him. 'I'm ready to be surprised.'

He barks out a laugh. ‘Fair enough. I’ll see what I can do’

Tao starts to move towards you across the sidewalk, but you hold out a hand at the level of his chest, stopping his movement. 'So, love, huh? There's not some girlfriend or boyfriend of yours waiting for you at home?'

‘I belong only to myself. For now, at least.' He smiles and holds his arms out wide. His brows tug together suddenly. For a moment he looks unsure. Vulnerable. But the look is gone so fast you wonder if you imagined it. ‘What about you?’

You want to fold in on yourself and turn away, hiding. As if the stain of failure is written across your face. The words that were thrown your way like scarlet letters on your skin for him to see. Prude. Uptight. Tease. Your stomach churns and you’re glad you only had the one drink tonight.

‘Single.’ You suck in a breath after you get the word out, like it stole all the air from your lungs in speaking it.

He nods, holding your gaze for a moment. Those eyes of his drink you in and you’re sure he can see it - the hesitation and the fear. But once more he simply stands tall and gives you space to think. ‘Shall we head towards the waterfront?’

A public place, lively and full of people on a Friday night. Safe, reassuring. He didn’t suggest a club or somewhere heavy with expectation and you like him better for it. Tao waves an arm out in front of you, inviting you to go first and you start walking, clutching your purse under your arm.

He falls into step beside you. 'So I guess if we're going big or going home, shall we start with our dating history?'

You should have expected this level of inquisition, especially from someone who is friends with Baekhyun. ‘Jesus, you don’t pull any punches.’ But against your will you let out a laugh.

There’s something refreshing about someone who seems like, for all his mystery, he doesn’t hold any secrets. Everything out in the cool night air and you wonder if it would be freeing, to let it all go. To not question the words you say. To trust that the person you’re speaking them to will hold them without judgement.

‘Never have, never will,’ he reassures you. The cat-like grin on his lips is teasing. ‘That I can guarantee you. I’m happy to go first, if you’d like?’

You nod, and he sighs, looking through the clouds to the moon that peeks through. The streets are dry for once, a brief respite after the wet Seattle spring. Everyone around you takes in the night with gleeful laughter, on the search for music and connection and entertainment. But even with the full sidewalks around you all you feel compelled to do, inexplicably, is lean in closer to hear Tao.

A group of women brush by you, giggling, forcing you into Tao to avoid them. On instinct he reaches out an arm to keep you both from being overrun. You turn into him and end up meeting his eyes. In the night they’re so dark they look almost black, with flashes of light from passing cars.

The moment stretches around you and irrationally you want to stop him before he says anything else. No stories of the people he’s been with or kissed or loved or wrote songs about. Maybe that’s the appeal of one night love stories, you think. The beginning of love is always a lightning bolt. If that’s all it ever is you never have to deal with being knocked on your ass by the resulting thunderstorm.

The women pass and Tao respectfully brings his hand back to his pocket and time carries on. But the look on his face remains as you both start walking towards the Market again.

‘I should say up front, I uhh - I guess that I’ve never been in a relationship. Actually.’ He runs a hand through his hair and winces like he’s ashamed of it. ‘I came close a few times. But it’s just never worked out.’

You open your mouth but aren’t sure what to say. Do you make fun of him for clearly being a playboy, not wanting to be tied down, fitting the stereotype of the rockstar he’s on a path to becoming? Do you play coy, asking him if you might fit the bill? Or do you reassure him?

The latter feels the most natural. ‘You’re young. It’s the nineties. I don’t think it’s unusual to be playing the field right now.’ You lift a shoulder and shrug, the edge of your black denim jacket slipping down your back a bit with the motion. It exposes the skin of your collarbone above the strap of your dress, where your neck meets your chest.

Tao licks his lips and drags his eyes away from your shoulder to meet yours with a nod. ‘That’s true. I guess most of my friends are single. Sehun is. Jongin is. Baekhyun is, for sure. Even if he is in love with your sister.’ Your jaw drops and Tao bites his lip. ‘Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t tell her I -’

He looks genuinely panicked and you laugh, waving a hand. ‘Trust me, she’s in love with him too. They’re both too stubborn to admit it though. So your secret is safe with me.’

Tao sighs, relaxing, and gives you a half smile. ‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ The neon lights from the bars and clubs along Pike street pass over his face, painting him dozens of bright colors. ‘So, that’s my story. Too busy working and writing lyrics and singing to be tied down. What’s yours?’

‘That’s hardly a story,’ you challenge, raising a brow. ‘More like the cover of a book.’

‘It’s plenty!’ he laughs. ‘I’ve exposed myself as a perpetually single man. I think that tells you tons about me.’ At your pursed lips he continues. ‘Fine. I’ve been chasing music for so long that I have avoided getting serious with anyone, lest it keep me from my dreams of stardom. I crave that intensity between me and an audience when I sing, but I’m afraid to let myself have something real. Something intimate, that expects more of me past one performance. I’m afraid that off-stage I’m more disappointing than on et cetera et cetera.’

He cuts off his rambling monologue, his eyes widening as he stops in his tracks for a moment, like he can’t believe he just said so much. But you stand next to him without judgement. Something about his disarming honesty and expressiveness makes you want to tell him the truth, ugly that it might be.

While you stand on the corner and wait for the light to change you look at the zipper of his leather jacket to avoid his eyes and spit it out. ‘I got dumped six months ago.’ You lift your hands and drop them uselessly to your side.

He tilts his head back in appraisal. Blessedly the teasing is gone from his face. He doesn’t offer sympathy, cloying and patronizing words about how you’ll find someone else. He doesn’t flirt with you, even though that seems to be his nature.

‘I don’t know the circumstances, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but all I can say is - it’s his loss.’ He gives you a slight smile, not moving even when the light changes, and you can’t help but return it.

It’s strange that it could be so simple. Perhaps if you do carry on something with Tao you’ll tell him more. But for tonight it can be that easy. The pain and doubt and shame can fade into a pinprick of light heading off into the distance and get swallowed up by the night. Like you can just wipe the slate clean and start over. You inhale a deep breath of cool, salty air and look up at Tao, your smile growing, becoming more genuine and whole.

A lightness fills you and you wind your arm through his, pulling him into the crosswalk just as the last few seconds show on the countdown. He lets you guide him easily and you come to rest on the concrete looking down at the Pike Place Market. The bright neon red sign reflects against the dark night and the inky blue waters of the Bay beyond it. In the twilight ships move back and forth through the port, full of tiny lights of their own.

He drops his hand a little, running over the clothed skin of your arm until he reaches your palm. The contact of his hand on yours makes you jolt. ‘Is this okay?’

Without thinking you nod, twining your fingers with his, savoring the heat as he presses against you. Your ex hated holding hands in public, hated any kind of PDA, calling it childish. But Tao stands by your side, hand in hand, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

People mill about you, heading to the endless restaurants and food stands that line the Market. In summer it’s in full bloom, crowded every night, and after a long winter and spring holed up in your apartment it’s disorienting to be out in the world again.

You start walking together, without a plan. It’s far more comfortable than you’d expected, the companionable silence with him. Everyone in your life talks a mile a minute - Baekhyun and your sister, your co-workers at the busy coffee shop, your classmates, hungry for discussion - but Tao seems content to just hold your hand and admire the rows of vendors you pass. The lack of pressure from him eases something that had drawn tight and anxious in your chest over the last few months.

Before you is a maze of stalls. Tables full of tulips in bright yellows and pinks, bouquets wrapped in brown paper, that you stop to smell. Screen printed tee shirts with the Sonics logo or photos of the Space Needle or trendy political puns that Tao points out with a laugh. People sell everything from watercolor paintings to homemade honey to snow globes. As a recent college grad, you’re saving all your money, but everything is still fascinating to look at.

The two of you settle on a kebab place for dinner after a long debate about the merits of the taco cart and the hole-in-the-wall seafood stop. The steam brings the rich smell of meat and vegetables to you. Against your protests to split the bill, Tao insists on buying dinner.

‘If this is an official date I have to follow the guidelines,’ he winks.

You roll your eyes and defiantly go to the next stall to order two Jones sodas from the seller. When you hold them up he laughs and inclines his head. ‘Alright, that’s fair.’

When you’re settled on the narrow rock wall beyond the far edge of the market, balancing Jones sodas on the uneven stones with a warm kebab resting on your knees, he carries on.

'So, poetry. What made you choose that?' He asks around a bite.

After a sip of soda you tilt your head at him. ‘You can't laugh, okay?'

'Why would I laugh?’ His brows furrow like it’s the furthest thing from his mind. ‘I'm a singer, sweetheart. I don't take the arts lightly and anyone who does is an asshole.' He narrows his eyes at you in mock seriousness but the way his mouth fights a smile is endearing.

You snort, liking him yet again without planning on it. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always loved it and sometimes I try to write it. I’ve had some job or another since high school, so I’m confident I can always get a job if I need it but - there’s something so - so delicious about poetry.’ You swallow another drink of your soda and Tao’s eyes flick to the motion of your throat. ‘If I was going to go to college, and our parents kind of insisted on it, I wanted to study something I loved.’

Tao lifts his own soda and clinks it to yours in solidarity. ‘I can respect that. What’s your favorite poem?’

Suddenly shy you turn to set your soda down on the stone beside you, letting your hair fall over your face while you think. It’s not that you don’t know, but that it feels too close, too personal to tell him just yet. ‘That’s very private.’

When you look back to him he holds your gaze for a moment. ‘Hmm. Okay I can respect that. Favorite songs are pretty personal too so I’ll let you hold onto it, for now.’ With a movement as casual as breathing he tucks your hair behind your ear, as though he does it twenty times day, and resumes his eating.

Poems run through your head as you chew, heart racing. You’d thought this was an experiment that would quickly go south. A quick walk to prove that you’re not compatible. A smug ‘I told you so’ to Baekhyun. And then a return to the comfort of your bed to read for the night. You didn’t expect to want him. Words, endless remembered words filter across your consciousness, ones of love and lust and death and the exhilaration of life.

Normally your own creative voice is quiet, too afraid to give permanence to the ideas, the words, that live inside you. But as you watch the gentle night breeze ruffle his dark hair you think you could write some tonight, if you had pen and paper. Instead you shove an enormous bite in your mouth and chew, afraid of the attraction you have to him.

When you’re both done eating he holds his hand out for your trash and you wad up the wrapper and hand it to him along with the empty bottle. He walks over to the trash and dutifully puts the bottles in the recycle, like any good Seattle boy. Dusting off his hands he turns back towards you, approaching slowly and holding out his hands.

After a moment’s hesitation you reach for him, allowing him to help you stand. Continuing the night’s adventure. When you’re on your feet he releases one of your hands, keeping the other one tucked in his as the two of you wind your way back through the crowds. Both of you stop to pat the bronze pig at the crux of the Market for good luck.

He leads the way down the narrow stairs to Post Alley and the line outside the comedy club at its base winds around in a long chain. It’s funny, normally you’d want to know The Plan. Baekhyun calls you anal retentive, but you just consider yourself organized. You like knowing what’s coming. But tonight you consent to following him without knowing the destination. You bite back a smile - it’s exciting and terrifying all at once.

A group of people tries to come up the stairs as you’re going down and you are pressed against the rail, trying not to slip. It definitely isn’t meant to be wide enough for both directions of people at the same time. As if sensing your predicament Tao presses his broad back into the rowdy man behind you, ignoring his grumbles of annoyance, making space so you can descend the last few steps onto the courtyard.

Out front of the Market Theater you thank him and wonder what exactly his plan is. Is he taking you to an improv show? A concert? Drinks? With your hand still in his he gently moves to the left, under the archway and in front of the long gum wall. You raise a brow at him but he merely smiles and shrugs.

‘I didn’t peg you for someone who likes tourist attractions.’

His eyes dance with amusement. ‘Oh yeah? What kind of person did you imagine me to be?’

You purse your lips and try to figure out how to answer him. ‘I’m not sure, actually. Normally I can read people pretty easily, but I can’t pin you down.’

‘Me?’ He presses his hand that holds yours to his chest. ‘Baby, I’m an open book.’

The gum wall around you smells sickly sweet and you can almost taste it on your tongue. Everyone around you is taking polaroids in front of the wall or chewing their own gum in preparation to add to it.

You wonder what the two of you look like from an outsider’s perspective. Tao, tall and imposing with his thick motorcycle boots. You with your white Keds and sweet, checkered dress and headband. It might seem like you’re an odd couple, but the heartbeat in his chest against your hand is strong and underneath it all perhaps you’re not so different.

With a breathy laugh and a roll of your eyes you grip his hand and pull him further along the alley beside the gum walls, towards the water. Nearby one of the many buskers permitted to perform along Pike Place starts signing a loud and heartfelt, if slightly off-key, rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline,’ drawing the cheers of the onlookers.

Away from the crowd in Post Alley you emerge onto a side street a block or so from the water. Tilting your head back you watch as everyone sings along. Tao’s free arm suddenly comes around your waist and dramatically he starts swaying you back and forth, crooning along to the Neil Diamond song far better than the busker. A few other people on the street around you smile or laugh, making their way to the pier up ahead.

Instead of asking him what on earth he’s doing or feeling embarrassed about dancing in the middle of the sidewalk you just cling to him and try to keep up. His voice is rich and soothing, his hand holding you against him is sturdy and comforting. You can’t help but giggle and roll with it, holding onto his jacket and watching his jaw move as he sings.

All too soon the performance back at the Market behind you ends and the last lyrics are drowned out by applause. Tao takes a step back and the night is cold without his warm embrace. You long to step forward and close the distance once more. Instead you brush your hair back and compose yourself.

‘What kind of music do you like to sing?’ you ask as the two of you resume your progress towards the pier.

‘All kinds.’ He shrugs. ‘But mostly love songs.’

‘Really?’ The light before you changes and ahead the aquarium looms in the night. To your left is the Kingdome waits, past the long stretch of the boardwalk. Without waiting for Tao you head that direction, the briny ocean air filling your lungs.

He easily comes to your side. ‘Of course. Everything’s about love I think, when you get down to it.’

‘You weren’t singing love songs when I saw you perform.’

You answer without thinking, remembering the concert a few months ago that you and your sister went to. Baekhyun had invited you both to see Chanyeol’s band - Yeol and the Salty Wolves - and Tao was performing with the opening group.

‘You’ve seen me on stage?’ His proud grin is teasing and playful and damned if you don’t want to kiss him.

‘Yeah. It - my sister dragged me out of the house. She thought getting outside would do me some good.’ You focus on picking off a section of your pink nail polish that’s started to chip. ‘You guys were great. But you were definitely yelling about anarchy, not love.’

The imagine of him in his tank top, wide slits cut under the arms revealing a broad swath of his tanned skin, singing passionately, makes you suddenly very aware of him. Tonight he’s composed, a rebel in street clothes. But that night his face was slicked with sweat from his intensity, red in the cheeks and headbanging along with the crowd and the rest of the band. Even that night, so close after your recent break up, you wanted him. It was a dangerous idea then and it’s a dangerous idea now.

He hums and veers to the right, heading down one of the longer piers. ‘I could argue that anarchy still is love. Love of your beliefs and love of a person or a place or a thing so much that you’re willing to fight for it, to go to war for what you care about.’

To that you don’t argue. ‘That’s true. I guess anything could be love when you get down to it. There’s so many poems about sadness - missing love or rejected love. Anger. Bitterness.’

The wooden boards of the pier below you give a gentle thunk with each heavy step of Tao’s huge boots. Below you the water sloshes against the planks. Now at the end you lean forward, resting your elbows on the railing, before turning back to Tao.

‘I guess this is a day to be debating love,’ you smirk, thinking back to the conversation that got you into this. In the wind off the Bay you shiver.

Like a reflex Tao shrugs out of his jacket and holds it out to you. But you lean over and wave your hand at him. ‘No it’s okay, I’m fine. Please, you don’t have to -’

But he drops it over you anyways, the warm weight of his jacket settling on your shoulders and insulating you from the wind. In his black, long-sleeve shirt he doesn’t even seem cold. With a sigh you pull it more fully onto you and bend upright again, inches from him.

‘Debating love indeed. See I think love and intimacy is made far too complex by a lot of people.’ He slowly rubs his hands together, forearms resting on the railing as he leans over, looking at the waves. ‘I think it comes from knowing someone. Really knowing them. Hopes and fears and memories and all of that. and choosing to be with them. Simple and complicated as that.’

‘Simple as that?’ you gape at him, holding your wind-tousled hair out of the way with one hand so you can look at him. ‘There's no way to truly know someone in one night, though. There's too much nuance for love in such a short time.’ The beating of your heart in your palms when you look at him would argue otherwise and you inhale deeply, trying to keep your center.

‘Hence why I also said complicated. But now we’re debating what love itself means.’ His gaze darts down to your lips before he meets your eyes. ‘I know plenty about you.’

You open your mouth to argue but he carries on. ‘I know you’re stubborn, given the soda earlier and the coat just now. I know you’re practical and competent - I’ve seen you at your job. I know you’re a romantic at heart, you have to be to study poetry, and even if some asshole temporarily doused that fire you look for evidence that love is real everywhere.’

Feeling raw and exposed you try to find anything to say to brush off the way his statements cut to the heart of you. ‘That doesn’t mean you - uhm - that you know me.’

The word you almost said in your haste was love and the thought makes your palms sweat. Irrational. Impossible. Everyone always says your emotions are easy to read, that they’re written all over your face, and you wonder what he sees as he watches you. The moment you said it you could see the slow smile start on his lips. At the very least he knows you’re not arguing with him as much as arguing with yourself, against what you feel.

He leans in closer so that his forehead touches yours, low voice almost a murmur. ‘But I want to know you more. I want to do a lot of things. Does that count?’

‘Count?’ If you wanted to you could press up on your toes and kiss him. The thought is intoxicating and you close your eyes, heaving a breath into your lungs.

After a long moment of thinking and waiting and wondering you finally open them again. Tao looks just as conflicted as you are - his brows tug together and the casual flirtation is gone. He holds himself still before you and something far more serious crosses his face. Though he doesn’t answer with words the look in his eyes telegraphs his feelings for you.

With a sigh he pulls back, reaching to the railing with both hands to steady himself, and you sway in his absence. He looks up at the night sky, at the moon through the clouds, and smiles. The stars peek through here and there. It’s not a cold night, just a breeze across the water to relieve the heat from the long summer day. Distantly a line of poetry comes to you, about being thirsty, parched almost, and wanting to drink him in to quench it.

Rather than indulge the dangerous impulse to touch him again you take off back down the boardwalk. Back to the city and the lights and far away from the closeness of being with him in the dark. The pressure of his thick jacket will have to be enough, for now.

‘So, where do you want to go next?’ You’re impressed you manage to sound steady.

He sticks his hands in his pockets once more and ambles after you, a small smile gracing his lips. ‘I know a place.’

As you make your way along the waterfront he turns the conversation to safer territory. You fill each other in on your jobs - how they started and what you like and don’t like. Co-workers who are dating, friends you have in common at the mall. Notorious customers. Tao has dozens of stories and his laugh is easy, his eyes bright with flirtation now that you’re both on safer ground.

Through the night you meander around the city in a vague Northward direction. Past the Science Center, it’s great white sculptures lit up. Around the Space Needle and the fountain. Another city and the streets would be deserted this late. But here there’s groups of people, laughing and splashing each other at the base of the enormous bowl that forms the center of it. You pass the occasional jogger or couple holding hands, walking home.

The two of you stop to use the restroom and get a drink of water at a 24 hour grocery store. Tao also insists on buying some snacks, chocolate and a bag of chips that you keep in the large pockets of his jacket as you progress to the edges of Lake Union.

It’s easy, being with him. His energy is calm, reassuring. He’s got a wicked and witty sense of humor you wouldn’t have expected and you easily spend half an hour looking out at the boats, making up other, naughtier names for them.

It turns out he likes X-Files just as much as you and your sister do. As you stroll along the Fremont bridge you end up taking his hand once more. The snacks are gone and you can’t resist touching him again. It must be well after midnight, but he doesn’t mention going home. Strangely, you don’t want to either. For someone who’s life has become so habitual you’re surprized you’ve not even spared a thought for your nightly routine of reading in bed with a glass of wine and a candle burning on the windowsill.

There will be other nights for that, but for tonight you let the momentum of the evening carry you along with him. You both decide to skip a visit to the Troll, not wanting to tempt any disasters. The Keds on your feet hold up well and you give a thanks to your past self for not wearing heels or sandals.

Eventually his destination becomes clear. The gates to the park are closed for the night. ‘Gas Works? This is your plan - breaking and entering?’

He nods, biting his lip. ‘Yep. I know a way in. The nighttime view is unbeatable.’

You hold out your hands, gesturing to the enormous PARK HOURS: DAWN TIL DUSK sign.

‘Afraid of being caught?’

You roll your eyes. ‘Yes, actually. I don’t think getting arrested for trespassing would be a great thing for my resume.’

Tao considers before backing towards the edge of the fence with a smirk. ‘Come on. How about a little mischief here ‘upon the honey’d middle of the night’?’

‘You know Keats?’ It leaves you breathless, rooted to the ground. It’s not from your favorite poem, but he is your favorite poet. A good guess or has he been doing his research?

‘Of course. Don’t you?’ Tao teases, folding back a corner of the fence and easing himself through.

You scoff and charge after him. The smug bastard can’t just quote Keats and then run away from you. Once again you want to kiss the proud look off his face, to rattle him the way he seems so capable of rattling you, getting underneath your surface. With a last thought to your reputation you step through after him and a thrill runs down your spine.

The rusted red containers and machines that form the center of the park are tall ghosts in the night, rising from the grass and casting long shadows around you in the distant light from the city. He holds out his hand and you easily catch it, both of you winding your way carefully around the gentle hills to make your way to the view.

You find a suitable spot and sit down on the grass. ‘You’re right,’ you tell him reluctantly.

‘About what?’ Tao sits beside you, linking his hands over his knees. He sits near enough you can feel his thigh pressing against yours. Close, always so close, but not as close as you want him.

‘About this.’ You gesture to the Seattle skyline in front of you.

Sure you’ve been in the daytime, watching the boats sail on Lake Union and the groups of yoga practitioners and families with young kids fill the grassy slopes down to the water. But by night the lights of the city look like a painting. Skyscrapers touching the clouds as the first hints of sun are lightening the horizon.

‘I thought you’d enjoy it.’ He nudges you with his shoulder and smiles at you.

The gentle sounds of the water below is relaxing. Even as you lift your hand to cover a yawn you don’t truly feel tired, like the night and closeness to him could keep you awake forever, if you let them. But even so, dawn is coming and you think back to the reason that you’re both here.

‘So. About that bet?’ Your words are a sigh and somewhere between the late hours and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles you don’t second guess the question.

He side eyes you and can’t smother the grin on his face. ‘You mean the one about if we can fall in love in one night?’

‘Yes, that.’ It must be the lack of sleep causing the giddiness you feel, you tell yourself, as you lean back against the grass and cover your face with your hands.

His own hands find yours and you turn to see him on his side next to you. Gently he pulls them down, holding them to his chest, so he can look you in the eyes. ‘Hmm, I don’t know about love, but I feel a whole hell of a lot right now. We never came up with an objective definition of it, anyways.’

You snort. ‘Did you honestly just say ‘objective definition?’’

‘Yes, I think if we’re going to agree here, we need to be on the same page.’ With his intense focus on yours he brushes a kiss against the backs of your hands. ‘If we say love is a feeling, who’s to say that we aren’t in love? If we decide it’s an action then which one is it? A kiss or a commitment or - maybe it’s nothing more complicated than putting words to the way I feel when you look at me?’

The smile blooms across your face and right then you’re tempted to say it’s all of them. How much you want his mouth on yours and his hands all over you. How you’re not quite sure you know how to have a relationship with a man anymore, after your ex, but that you want to try with him. How wild and free you feel being next to him.

‘I don’t know about -’ you whisper. You let the truth fall out, not bothering to think about what it might mean. ‘Long term or after tonight. But I’d say, much that I hate to admit Baekhyun could be right, I’d say… uhm, he could be right.’

You avoid Tao’s eyes, focusing on his jaw or the fabric of his shirt or the way his hands hold yours. But still you see how he smiles, almost glowing in the light of the moon and the barest reflection of the sun coloring the skyline to your left.

He clears his throat, pressing another kiss to your hand. ‘Well, I'd look at it this way. Let's say we do get together. Maybe we last a month or maybe we last for the rest of our lives. Another fifty or sixty years. In either of those cases tonight would be just a fraction of the relationship. A small sliver. Important when looking at the broad view of a life together, but not crucial by itself.’

With a nod you look at him and the heat in his eyes makes you gasp. He moves over you, releasing your hands to brace himself on the ground behind your head. The sturdy press of his body reminds you this isn’t a movie or a dream, it’s something real that’s happening to you. The cool grass sinks into your dress at your back and brushes against your thighs.

'Or.' His hot breath cascades across your lips. 'If all we have is tonight.' Moving himself to the side he runs his nose along your jaw, mouth teasing the skin of your neck with barely there kisses. 'One night would be everything. For all the marbles, as they say.' He pulls back and looks at you with a lopsided grin.

You huff out a breath, blowing your bangs out of your eyes, absently running your hands across his shoulders, along his chest. 'I don't know. I like knowing there's always time for more. Like - what if I was tired tonight or hungry or cranky and I messed it up? The thought of just one night still makes me nervous.’

He kisses your forehead and the words come faster, as if hurried along by the morning. ‘If we're a forever thing, then it's okay, because there will be a thousand more chances to get it right. But just once? How can it be perfect if it's so brief?'

'Well, even if we do get together we'd still only have one first kiss.' He rests on one elbow and uses his free hand to cup your jaw, clearing his throat around the roughness of his voice. 'Do you want to wait or shall we attempt perfection tonight?'

The thought of waiting any longer makes you far sadder and you nod. ‘Screw it - kiss me. Please?’

Instead of answering he simply drops his head, closing the distance and sealing his mouth over yours. He groans at the contact, the sound vibrating in his chest where it rests against yours. You grip his neck, winding your fingers through the strands of his hair and hold on, to ground yourself, between him and the grass as he slowly, hungrily, kisses you.

Your eyes flutter for a moment as he sucks on your lower lip. Behind him the sky is bright, the rays of light spilling through the clouds and rendering him art himself. The arch of his brows, full of emotion. You squeeze your eyes closed and hold him tight, grazing his neck with your nails and sighing into his open mouth. Before you can kiss him again he pulls back, his cheeks flushed and his eyes full of delight.

‘That was pretty damn good.’ He huffs out a laugh, running his tongue along his lower lip like he’s trying to keep the taste of you close. ‘Are you sure you want to risk another one? It could be -’

‘Yes,’ you answer immediately. ‘Again.’

He grins and buries his face in your neck, his hot breath falling on your sensitive skin. ‘I think we’ve found the crucial difference between us.’ At your hum he carries on. ‘I can take one moment and hold onto it forever, perpetually living off the way it felt. You want to have it over and over again. And here I thought you were the poet.’

Rolling onto his back he pulls you on top of him with a squeal as you right yourself, bracing hands on his shoulders for balance. His hand rests against your cheek. ‘But if it helps. I - feel the same way.’

‘Oh.’ To keep your surprise and delight from exploding all over your face you bite your lip. ‘Alright then.’ You trace patterns in the fabric covering his chest.

It’s as simple and as complicated as that, just like he said, hours ago.

As the day rises full and bright with the heat of the sun you do indeed kiss again. Several more times. When you’re both red lipped and thirsty and covered in wrinkled clothes you head back to your apartment by UW. He gives you a piggy back ride when your feet start to hurt and helps you make breakfast with a sleepy smile and runs his fingers over the covers of the numerous books stacked on every surface of your apartment and all the while the feeling in your chest grows, not diminishes.

You hurry through a shower and getting dressed for work while he patiently waits on the couch. His eyes are closed when you emerge, putting your hair back in a ponytail. Leaning against the door frame you watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest. You stifle a yawn and think of how not twelve hours ago you didn’t know what his skin felt like beneath your palms or what he’d be like to kiss or how perfectly your bodies seem to line up.

Tomorrow, or perhaps later tonight, you’ll have to report back to Baekhyun and your sister. Though you still have no idea what you’ll say when he asks if the two of you fell in love in one night, you know that, at the very least, it was the start of something.

You leave Tao a note with instructions to sleep as long as he wants and a spare copy of your keys. He works his own shift tonight at Flanagan’s at two, his last one before he leaves on tour. Reassured that at least you’ll see him once more tonight at the party, before he’s gone for - well, you suppose you didn’t ask the specifics yet. You laugh at the thought and quietly shut the door and sprint down the steps to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s hardly after nine in the morning when Tao arrives. Far earlier than you were expecting, but you’ve learned that he likes to surprise you. When you see him standing in line you bite your lip, tilting your head and giving him a sleepy smile.

‘A bit early for you, isn’t it?’ You ask, friendly and professional. ‘You look like you had a long night.’

He laughs, shaking his head and resting his palms on the counter. ‘I did indeed. But it’s been over two hours since I last saw you.’

‘Oh yeah? Is that a long time, then?’ you tease him.

He whistles and leans in to whisper so only you can hear. ‘Far too long for someone in love.’

‘Love?’ The word thunders in your chest.

‘Maybe it’s too soon to know,’ he says, not backing up at all. ‘Maybe love is confirmed by time. But what I feel, whatever this is the start of, I’m greatly looking forward to.’

‘Are you sure you want to start this? You’re leaving, like, tomorrow.’ Suddenly in the light of day the reality of the situation makes your stomach flip.

He clutches his chest dramatically. ‘Don’t sound so sad, love. Please. You say that like I won’t come back.’ He reaches for your hand across the counter. ‘At least we'll have tonight. Tonight or forever, right?’

‘Exactly.’ Unable to resist you lift your hand to hold his cheek and kiss him. It was killing you not to and why not? He’s right. If it’s just one more night, you’re going to make it count.

You pull back and fill out his cup, insisting it’s your treat. Before he leaves you hold out the jar of poems. When he reads the line he laughs, holding it out to you.

“And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.”

― Pablo Neruda

#exowritersnet #tao x reader #zitao x reader #tao scenario #tao fanfic #exo x reader #exo au #exo fanfic #exo scenario #exo imagine #exodus mall

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trillian-anders · 5 years ago

Text

the assistant

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 6.8k

description: part 1 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now, the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale.

You wanted to smack that dumb smirk off his stupid dumb face.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale. The bane of your fucking existence. Standing there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, he fucking loved this. Watching as you cleaned up his mess. A crying girl on his doorstep and you, his assistant (aka babysitter), trying to calm her down enough to get her to leave his house. This dumb contemporary floor to ceiling windowed, minimalist, empty souled house. The girl had been picked up at a bar last night. Charmed by his handsome face, the money he was careless to spend, the way he spoke to you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

It was a fucking joke. A trick. You’ve seen it a million times and you’d be willing you bet that you’d see it a million more.

The door blocked her view of him, your clear view of him from the side, sipping on a mug of coffee in his hands and fucking smirking.

“He won't even see me?” You hated when they cried. Like each of them had this idea that they’d go home with Ransom Drysdale and fuck him so good that he’d tie them to his bed and never let them leave or something.

You sighed heavily before replying, “Mr. Drysdale has business to attend to, he’s unavailable at the moment, but I can leave him a message if you’d like?” You did this maybe five or six times a week. In the early morning hours, after his sexual escapade and some rest, Ransom would wake early and leave for the gym. In that time you were supposed to ‘take out the trash’ as he described it. This morning, the girl left dazed and confused in the fog taking an uber back to her home, but returning an hour later trying to plead her case. It was giving you a migraine.

The girl stepped back from the porch, shoes crunching against the gravel as she searched the windows for his face. “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” She shouted, flipping the bird into the air. The man hiding to your right, choked on his coffee in laughter as you watched the girl get back into her car and disappear from sight.

“What's on the agenda today Ransom,” You shut the door quietly, turning to face him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” He scoffed in indignation.

“You’re not gonna quit,” He drained the rest of his mug, “You can’t even leave the house long as you got that.” He gestured towards your leg. Sitting firmly on your right ankle was a house arrest bracelet. One meant for him, but carefully bribed into being put on your own leg. The stupid son of a bitch got away with murder, after the death of his late Grandfather’s housekeeper by his own hand and the attempted murder of the girl that got the entire Thrombey fortune, he stayed the lucky son of a bitch he had been his entire life.

Evidence was mishandled, not enough proof. That whole, ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ thing. The rich asshole got fucking house arrest and court mandated therapy. Even after there were three fucking witnesses to him attempting to murder Marta Cabrera.

Money oiled the gears of the justice system, letting the trust fund baby slip through without consequence. That’s where you come in.

You worked for the Thrombey’s before. As a tutor to Meg when she began to fail her english class. For whatever reason, Lynda and Richard Drysdale liked you, assigned you a new task. Their sweet baby boy Hugh, called Ransom by everyone but the Help. You’ve worked for Ransom for three years now. The first year before the death of his Grandfather and Thrombey patriarch, and now two years after his death and wouldn’t you know it. Hugh Ransom Drysdale wrote a fucking bestseller.

Everyone wanted an insight into this family. Harlan Thrombey always said there was so much of him in Ransom. He wasn’t lying.

Ransom wrote the first of what you knew would be many new Thrombey family murder mystery novels. And he was reaping in the cash. He was two months away from his next big release. Something you’re sure would fly off the shelves just as quickly as the first.

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” His coffee mug abandoned by the front door for you to clean up, he left you to officially start your day. He retreated into the study he created for himself to crank out the last four chapters he needed for his book, maybe.

Due to circumstances beyond your control, you were the one placed on house arrest. As long as no one was notified that Ransom left the perimeter of the house you were being paid well, and you being paid well meant your younger sister gets taken care of. You were able to send her money every month to help with the fact that she was staying with an estranged aunt. It hadn’t been easy once your mother died, but the Thrombey’s lighten the load so to say.

That’s why you were washing Ransom’s sheets that reeked of sex, picking up and disposing of torn panties and tossing used condoms the fucking dick couldn’t be bothered enough to toss two more feet into the trash can in his on-suite. You’d invested in rubber gloves.

On days that Ransom had to meet with his probation officer he would wear a dummy bracelet. It got him by and soon the fucker would be over and done with house arrest all together. You’d be able to move back home then. Hopefully.

“Ransom, you ever gonna eat today?” You knocked on the open door of his study, bringing his attention from his computer to you, who held a bowl of pasta in your one hand. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. There were multicolored post-its surrounding his computer. Your mind made the connection with how similar it was to his Grandfather’s own workspace. You gently placed the bowl on his desk, turning to pour him a tumbler of whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room.

“I don’t know how the old bastard ever cranked out two books a year,” His neck cracked. “How is that even possible?” He took a large bite of the pasta, squinting at the screen. His eyes quickly shifted to yours, watching you set down the glass of whiskey in front of him. He grabbed your wrist. “Stay.” It was an order. “Sit.” You took your place in a chair across from him.

“Harlan wrote every day,” You told him, “You write whenever you’re not off sticking your dick into anything that breathes.” He laughed at that.

“Not everything that breathes,” He typed a few more words into the word document, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” Your core pulsed, he said yet.

Audibly you scoffed, “I would never willingly fuck you Ransom.” You pulled your legs up onto the chair to make yourself comfortable. He smirked at that, eyes not leaving the computer screen.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” That stupid smirk. You hated that fucking smirk. So condescending.

When you first met Ransom you were probably very much like the girls that you now pry out of his bed at 8 am. You had been tutoring Meg at the family home, sitting at the kitchen table going over Othello when he sauntered in, digging through the cabinets for snacks. You could feel Meg tense up next to you and that’s when he turned. He was so fucking pretty. Blue eyes, well kept hair, cashmere sweater, those broad fucking shoulders, and on his face, stretching that full bottom lip you wanted to tug between your teeth, was a smirk.

That pulsing throb between your thighs soon was quickly forgotten as he opened his mouth and began to speak, “How’s it going Meg, trouble reading? Or do they not teach you how to read when you’re a liberal? Lord knows you guys never fucking understand anything anyway.” Meg snapped back at him, but you were stunned. You could tell he said that on purpose, knowing it would make her go off on the tangent he was now, finding a sick pleasure in it. That was the first time you��d seen the smirk. You’d lost count of how many times you’ve seen it since then.

“I really hate you Ransom.” You sighed, sinking further into your chair. He had almost finished off the bowl of pasta by now, whiskey long since emptied. He thinks it’s funny, you hating him because he responds looking you in your eyes, maintaining his smirk,

“I know you do baby.” He liked to do that. Call you pet names. Once he had even pretended you were his wife when you accidentally walked in on him and a girl he had been balls deep in, bent over the back of the couch. He fucking LOVED that one. The girl had cried, embarrassed, apologizing as she picked her bra up from the floor and slunk out the front door behind you. That was a while ago. Pre-Murder. You should have seen it then. How insane he actually was.

Ransom was incredibly smart and was a quick thinker. It was part of the reason that he had gotten away with murder in the first place. You knew that. It showed in his novel. He would have you read chapters, give him your opinion, before writing and rewriting. Showing you again. He’d ask you if you could figure out who was the murderer, a sinister glint in his eyes, arms crossed, standing above you waiting. He could only be satisfied if you didn’t have a clue.

It was a gift, you supposed, the ease in which he wrote to make every character a possible suspect in completely new and incredible scenarios. He had three books in various states of completion that he was chipping away at, the one he was currently working on seemingly better than the previous published.

His Mother, the one who gave him the silver spoon and cursed him for having it his whole life, was suddenly proud of him. His Father, now divorced from his Mother, would come by weekly asking for money. Ransom loved that too. His Dad got nothing due to the prenup, leaving him penniless. The cushy job he had at Lynda’s real estate empire was gone, and now Dad was working at local agency scraping by on low commission. Last week his Father came to the door while Ransom was writing and muscled his way not too kindly past you into the house.

“Ransom!” He called, finding his way into his son’s study. You quietly shut the door, returning to folding laundry. The door shut tightly behind him and sounds had been muffled. It’s only when their voices went from calm to a screaming match did the door wretch open and Ransom followed his Dad out, both red faced.

“We’ve given you everything in your fucking life and you can’t even give one iota back.” Ransom opened the front door, gesturing to the porch.

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.” His voice stern and commanding.

“Fuck you Ransom.” With that he was gone. The silence that had settled over the house was thick, Ransom’s hand still resting against the closed door before he took a breath and, without taking a glance in your direction, returned to his study. Closing the door.

The echo of that argument sat in the house for the rest of the day, Ransom leaving soon after to find a body to lose himself in. If the murder trial did anything, it made Ransom into a bad boy and girls fucking loved it. He wasn’t, technically, guilty after all.

You attempted to clear the bowl in front of him, but was stopped by his hand. His eyes never left the screen as he brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss in your palm, before dragging your arm to his other shoulder, hugging himself with it awkwardly until you gave in and wrapped your other arm around him, holding him tightly for a moment.

He was soft sometimes. His Mom never held him when he was a kid. He was left alone a lot while she was building her empire. Babysitters never stayed long, nannies came and went. Sometimes you truly felt bad for him, other times you remember that he was a dick and that he loved to play tricks and torment anyone and everyone that was supposed to take care of him, including you. The only difference was you weren’t able to leave.

He let you go soon after that, letting you clean up the mess from dinner and stoke the fire place warming the house that always seemed too cold. As you stood by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself you could feel him behind you, coming to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder as you stared into the flames. There was a moment or two of silence as you both stood there.

If this were any other situation, if Ransom loved you, if this was someone who loved you, if this someone cared enough to care about the things you care about, this would be kind of romantic. But it’s Ransom, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself, he definitely didn’t care about you, and he one hundred percent didn’t care about anything you care about. “I’m going out.”

His arms left your waist and his chest left your back leaving you cold. “For fucks sake Ransom, I don’t feel like throwing out a girl tomorrow morning.” You turned to watch him throwing his coat on. He smirked. He fucking smirked.

“I’ll give you a break and throw her out myself then.” And he was gone.

Hours later you’re woken by the sound of Ransom coming home, sure enough he wasn’t alone. Soft giggles and a bang, he’s shoved her against the wall beside your room. There were muffled groans as you assumed she found her knees right there in the hallway. He got off on this shit, you knew. Often stopping somewhere outside your door to start his sexual escapades. Knowing you were mere feet away, like some half-assed exhibitionism. It wasn’t long after that the girl squealed and there was more muffled talking before they moved to his bedroom. To which you shared a wall.

Your bedroom, before you were a live-in, housed a bunch of items you believed graced a teen boy’s bedroom walls at one point. And still, shoved in the corner, were playboy model cardboard cutouts, “They’re vintage, mint condition, and worth a lot.” Sure, Ransom, sure they are. Arcade games, framed patriots jerseys, a lacrosse set from his high school days. You were shoved in the middle of it all, a single bed shoved against the wall surrounded by what once was a room full of teenage boy memorabilia. A shrine to his youth.

The headboard soon came knocking and hope for sleep was lost. The girl’s moans escalating to shrieks. Either he was as good as he says, or these girls really care about his ego. Either could be true when there’s more than one comma in your bank account.

The kitchen was much quieter. A steady rocking still came from upstairs, but thankfully it was muffled by the floor. As you made a cup of tea you figured you would see if he had printed off a new chapter ready for you to read. You hope he wouldn’t have gone out without finishing it anyway.

You were not sure why you cared to be honest. You had this love/hate for Ransom. He was an annoying prick who did something really fucking horrible, but he also made it very clear to everyone involved that you had nothing to do with it. There was a scary moment there, after his arrest, when you were brought to the station for interrogation. You hadn’t known he had even gotten up to any of these crimes. He kept you completely in the dark and he was sure to let his arresting officers know that. You hadn’t even seen him since the night Harlan died when he left the party stranding you at the estate.

Money does crazy things to people. The threat of his steady income leaving was enough to push him to do something crazy. He was lucky enough that the recorded confession magically was erased. He was lucky for dirty cops. He was lucky that even though his mother despised his lifestyle she didn’t want him to go to prison. He was so lucky. Now with his first novel sitting highly on the bestseller list, he seemed even more lucky than he did before.

His study was on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, muffling the sounds enough for you to flip through the packet left on top of his keyboard. Three chapters away from completion you were following the detective through paces where things felt more confusing than ever, the clues were unclear and there was not much to go on, but the tension between the eldest son of the victim and his ex-wife were mounting and it was hard to believe that maybe this guy had nothing to do with it despite what was described as an ‘air-tight’ alibi. You read through the chapter twice, scribbling your thoughts in red pen along the margins.

“What do you think?” You jumped in your chair, looking up to see Ransom in the doorway.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Your hand still clutching your chest. He had a glass of water in his hand, chest bare, solid navy pajama pants slung low on his hips. His chest hair always got you, just a little bit. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed off the door jam to walk into the room, taking a seat in the chair you occupied hours ago. “It’s good,” you cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.” He chuckled softly.

“Let me see.” You handed him the packet and his eyes scanned the margins, reading your comments. They were mostly reactions, that’s what he liked. He wanted to know how you reacted to everything he put in front of you, did you like the romance, the tension, the lust he was trying to write between the ex-husband and wife? Or was it too distracting from the plot? Is the detective too unbelievable? He’s a character for sure. Can you figure out whodunnit yet?

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, spinning the chair side to side, waiting for him to put the packet down.

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” He took another sip from his water. You scoffed,

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” A smile stretched his lips,

“I like how much it bothers you.”

“It’s annoying,” you said, “Worst way to start my day.” He laughed.

“That’s the only reason?” He asked, throwing the packet back on the desk, leaning back in his chair. Smirking.

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You pushed back from the desk, moving to exit the room. He quickly grabbed your wrist, tugging you over to his side where he looked up at you,

“If you wanna take their place, just let me know.” Your other hand came up to smack him on his shoulder, causing him to laugh as he released you, letting you take your exit.

“Dick.”

You found him the next morning at his desk, looking as though he had very little sleep. “Babe could you get me some coffee?” You yawned in the doorway,

“Sure.” It didn’t take long before you were setting the cup in front of him. “Your therapist is coming by at one.” He nodded, not looking up from his computer. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for you to get ready.”

He was focused. You weren’t sure where this focus came from. It was every once in a while that he would find this stroke of inspiration and write for a whole day straight. Hopefully he will be finished his book before schedule and be able to get ahead for the next one.

Soon he was washed, dressed, and ready for the one person he dreads the most. He hated therapy sessions. There were only ten more he needed to do before the court mandate was over. Ten more weeks until you were able to get this lovely ankle bracelet off when you would hopefully be able to go back to the routine you had with him before. Where you’d sleep in your own shitty apartment and show up to work a 9 to 9 five days a week.

After sessions he was always moody, quiet, and tended to need his favorite single malt restocked the next day. Not exactly in line with how he should be tending to whatever revelation the therapist has been streamlining him to, but that wasn’t any of your business. You could say though that during the last 42 weeks of sessions this refractory period was shortening to less and less time, maybe tonight you won't be peeling him off the floor of the study and dragging him up to his room drunk off his ass.

While in the session you were trying not to listen in on, you were sunk heavily on the living room couch, drinking coffee and reading the latest chapter he had slapped into your hands before entering back into his study. The book was so close to being finished, the last two chapters leading you to the big reveal and aftermath. The climax was steady taking hold and you were more sure than ever that the eldest son had something to do with it. You didn’t know what he did, but it was something.

He looked mad enough to kill as the Doctor left. Slamming the door, barely missing the Doctor’s jacket sleeve as he made his hasty retreat. Ransom stood seething for a moment by the front door, a chill running down your spine. He had murdered someone before, something you try to forget seeing as you are forced to spend so much time with him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. It felt like an hour before he moved.

“I’m going out.” The words spoken sternly as he stomped his way up the stairs like a petulant child, returning moments later, cleaned up, eyes blank, before grabbing his coat and slamming the door loud enough to make you jump.

Aside from Ransom’s Mother never being around and aside from his Father’s string of extramarital affairs and aside from his Grandfather’s need to push him in every direction but close, you wish you could say that Ransom had a good childhood. But he didn’t. When he was little the kids picked on him for being rich, and when he was bigger they only became friends with him because he was rich. He was such a bully. At least, that’s what his Mother told you once drunk off chardonnay at his birthday dinner last year.

Disappointment.

That was a clear sentiment for the small family get together, and by small family get together you meant the dinner you cooked and Ransom looking like he’d rather be in prison than listen to his parents bicker over his Father’s new (Not so new seeing as he’d been caught kissing her by a PI before Harlan’s death) girlfriend. She was smart enough not to come.

This night was looking a lot like that one. Ransom, after his parents left and you began to tidy up, began to scream at you.

“What gave you the fucking right you dumb bitch?” He was spitting, face red as you cleared the dishes. “You’re only here for the money. The fucking money. How much is she paying you huh?” The bottle of expensive whiskey he had been drinking throughout the night was in his hand, swinging it around and taking pulls straight from the bottle. “Not enough obviously because you would have let me fuck you a long time ago.”

Your face flushed red as your own anger began to rise. He continued, “Never, ever, fucking again will you allow my parents in this house, do you understand me?” His unoccupied hand grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, turning you to face him. His eyes wild and unfocused. “I said do you understand me?” You not so gently wretched your arm from his.

“Don’t touch me.” He always fucking did this. Blamed you for things you had no control over. Lynda approached you about a dinner for Ransom’s birthday. It was her name in your paystubs. You can’t say no.

“How dare you-” He began, but was cut short.

“No Ransom. No.” Like scolding a fucking dog who put his paws on the table. You threw the bowl you currently had in your hands into the sink, turning to fully face him. “I am only here for the money and I am only here because your Mother pays me a lot to be here.” His jaw clenched. “But I’m also here because I’m the only fucking person who even remotely cares about your ungrateful prissy spoiled ass and if it wasn’t for me you’d be sitting in this fucking glass house, alone, with only your own self-righteous attitude to keep you company. So don’t you ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?”

He loudly clunked the bottle onto the kitchen island, stumbling in your direction as you backed yourself into the sink. His trial had just concluded two weeks ago, Fran’s murder fresh on your mind and you wondered if you just made a terrible mistake. Over the course of this rant, the alcohol was sinking into his bloodstream, it turned his anger into a crippling depression. One that resulted in his hands softly grasping your shoulders, and tugging you into his body. His face found your neck and slowly started to grow damp with what you realized were his tears.

Your heart broke a bit, too much empathy, even for this asshole. Your arms came to wrap around his shoulders, letting him cry it out.

That was the first and only time you saw Ransom cry over anything. If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was you knew that moment would never have happened. The sweet little moment that made your heart ache was quickly gone the next morning when Ransom made you coffee and thought it would be hilarious that after you thanked him for being so sweet he joked that he poisoned it. You could still recall the cackles of laughter as you spit your coffee into the sink.

That was the day he began writing his first novel.

He came home alone tonight which was strange. And far earlier than normal. You usually were in bed, or holed up in his study by the time he arrived him after a night out. Staying out of his way as he drug a bubbly hopeful girl up to his bed to satisfy his own needs for the night. He found you tonight, sitting outside, watching Netflix on your tablet by the firepit you had decided to light, a hot cup of tea sitting on the end table next to you. Cozy and wrapped in a blanket.

You could feel his eyes on you from the doorway. You tapped the screen, pausing your show and turned to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed, face flushed, and socked toes curling from the chill. He was looking at you strangely.

“You’re home early.” You placed the tablet down on the end table, turning to face him. He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam.

“I just needed a drive.” There was a soft smile on his face, well that’s new.

“Is everything okay?” He never tells you anything, but the sentiment matters. He looked to his feet, nodding.

“I’m probably going to try to stay up and finish the book tonight.” He shifted himself back into the house, your voice calling out to him,

“Come sit out here for a bit. It’s calming, just take a break from thinking for a minute.” He sighed and looked at you again, debating something in his head.

“I need to be alone.” You tried anyway. He disappeared from sight. And that was that.

The next day Ransom began acting even more strangely. The book was finished, the last two chapters handed wordlessly to you as he left for the gym on what you’re assuming was no sleep. That wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was when he returned three hours later bearing a box of donuts from your favorite bakery and two lattes, on his face was a smile.

“What did you do?” You accused, “Did you poison this?” You gestured towards the latte he placed in your hand.

“No.” He laughed, sliding the box of donuts to you. You stared at him skeptically before taking a sip. Tastes normal.

“Are you sick?” Your wrist coming to lay across his forehead, temperature feels fine.

“No.” He laughed again, pulling your wrist from his forehead and kissing your palm before opening the box of donuts, pulling a cinnamon sugar donut to his lips. “You just told me the other day how you missed these and I figured since I passed the shop on the way back it wouldn’t hurt to go pick some up.” It was suspicious. You continued to look at him skeptically. He sighed, placing the donut on the counter, grabbing the latte from your hand he took a large sip of it. “I didn’t fucking poison you Y/N.”

Okay.

Okay. You examined the box of donuts, pulling out the bear claw that was begging to be eaten. Still warm. You moaned in delight as soon as the warm pastry hit your taste buds. You really had missed these. Opening your eyes, you saw Ransom staring blankly at you before his eyes shifted to the packet by your side.

“All finished?” You swallowed and nodded, sliding the packet marked with red over to him and as he began to study your notes you tried to think about what could have possibly gotten him in such a good mood. The Doctor’s visit was odd enough. Yes he was angry when the Doctor left, but then just a drive? Not a blackout drunk, bringing two girls home to pleasure himself with and accidentally falling into a line or two of coke night, but a drive?

Maybe therapy had been working? Maybe he had a breakthrough? He finished the novel. The eldest son had something to do with it, his airtight alibi just that, a cover for the crime having been committed at a different time than the coroner’s estimated time frame due to him freezing the body and allowing it to thaw in the house.

You had asked Harlan how he came up with such incredible stories once. He said they just popped into his head fully formed, his brain moving faster than his fingers. He kept a little notebook with good ideas and would simmer in them as long as it took for a stroke of inspiration. The rest was just typing.

He smirked at some of your comments, ‘what a fucking joke’ you wrote next to the eldest son’s monologue about being passed over, his whining, annoying, self centered crying about how life wasn’t fair.

“What’s the smirk for?” You asked, removing the lid of your latte and dipping part of the bear claw in it.

“The lack of sympathy for Greg.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“He’s a fucking loser.” Ransom’s eyes met yours, “I bet you see a lot of yourself in him.” That made him laugh.

“What? You don’t like spoiled rich men?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from the milky sweet latte you didn’t know would feel like your life’s blood right now.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I think you find me endearing.” Ransom smirked. Your neck flushed.

“I find you annoying,” You admitted. “I only put up with you because of my paycheck.” He licked his lips.

“Sure,” He closed the packet, pushing it aside to take another bite of the donut, cinnamon sugar dusting his lips. “You put up with me because you’re secretly in love with me, but you know that I would never get with The Help.” This made you laugh.

“If you want me to be the Help I’ll gladly call you Hugh if it means you leave me alone.” He placed his paper cup on the counter, circling around to you.

“I like when you call me Hugh.” His hands came to rest on your upper arms, grinning.

“You’re disgusting.” He laughed at the clear displeasure on your face, spinning your stool around to him, and you leaned back, creating some distance as he came to stand between your legs.

“You don’t mean that do you baby?” His fingers toying with the ends of your hair. You could feel your nipples harden in excitement, body betraying you. A wet growing between your legs.

“Ransom what are you doing?” You said in exasperation. You weren’t blind. Ransom was gorgeous. You’d maybe, possibly, gotten off to the thought of him once or twice or maybe more than that in the four years you’ve known him. But he was also a scumbag who fucks and then throws girls out hours later. His moods were hot and cold. He had major Mommy issues and he’s not technically guilty of murder, but he’s a fucking murderer. But also… he’s been going to therapy and after that fight on his birthday last year he’s never laid a hand on you in anger again, there’s been some arguments sure, but he’s mostly nice to you. Caring even.

“Why don’t you love me Y/N?” His voice almost came out as a whine. He was playing with you.

“Ransom stop.” You pushed him away gently. He was fucking smirking.

��Usually there’s a ‘don’t’ in front of that.” Cocky bastard.

“You’re the worst person I know. And I hate that fucking smirk.” You picked at your now cold bear claw, trying to turn from him.

“Why don’t you wipe it off my face then?” Your eyes met his and you glared.

“What’s gotten into you today? Maybe you should go out early. Find some girl to satisfy whatever you’re going through right now.” His hands met your hips, spinning your stool back around to face him.

“What if I want you to satisfy whatever I’m going through right now.” His groin fit right up against your core and you could feel his throbbing heat between your legs. Fuck.

“Don’t make this mistake Ransom.” You placed one hand gently on his chest, attempting (but not really) to push him back. His forehead coming to rest against yours. “You don’t want this.”

“This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” His breath mingled with yours, sweet, cinnamon and coffee.

“You’re not thinking straight.” His lips brushed against yours, tongue coming out to wet his lips, his eyes locked with yours. Why weren’t you pushing him away? Your breath hitched as his tongue accidentally grazed your bottom lip.

“The only clarity I’ve ever had in my life has been when I’m with you.”

His lips pressed heavily against yours, pushing you back against your bedroom door as his hand came to tangle in your hair. He was all consuming, body hot and heavy against yours. Your core was thrumming with want, moisture pooling in the crotch of your yoga pants. His hips were rolling into yours and you could feel the hard length of him against your belly. His lips quickly moved across your jaw to your neck and you could hear yourself moaning softly as he licked, sucked, and nibbled on the sensitive skin below your ear. Your hands clenching the soft material of the t-shirt by his hips, dipping your fingers slowly into the waistband of his shorts.

His lips parted from your neck, hand tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes before taking your mouth once more. His mouth moved down this time to the tops of your breasts, hands leaving to shift the thick wool cardigan off your shoulders and onto the floor before dropping the straps of your camisole and exposing them to the air, nipples already pebbled in excitement.

You hadn’t dated in a while, unable to because of your paid house arrest and before that the way Ransom had worked you to the bone picking up after him. And the touch from someone else always felt better than your own. His hands felt huge on you, protecting.

Your head met the door as he enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud on his tongue until he felt the left neglected, and switched, beginning to toy with your right nipple between his finger tips. Moans and heavy breaths were the only sounds in the hallway as Ransom made his way down your body, slipping your yoga pants and panties off your hips as he found his knees before you.

“Ransom-”

“Shhhhh,” He pressed his lips against your naval, working his way to your trembling core. His hand lifted your right thigh, draping it over his shoulder as his eyes focused in on your, what you knew must be soaking, wet pussy. His eyes met yours from his knees, your legs trembling with anticipation, eyes locked as his pink tongue came to meet your pussy for the first time, a shuddering breath being released from you urged him on further.

His thick fingers spread your lips open, exposing your clit to his gentle assault. A building pleasure in your core as his tongue began to skillfully work, pulling moans from your mouth. How was he so good at this? Experimenting with different strokes, different pressure, finding what you like.

“Just like that, oh my god.” He rolled his tongue against your clit, eyes finding yours once more, keeping pace. You could see the corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk as he began to work you up to climax. “You’re such a fucking asshole, I hate that fucking smirk.” Head hitting back against the door as he used his fingers to tease your opening. “Oh my god.” Your hips bucked against his face, causing him to use the arm currently wrapped around your thigh to splay open on your abdomen, holding your hips still. The wet noises and soft grunts from the man between your thighs only caused you to grow closer to your release.

“You taste so fucking good baby,” moaned between your thighs.

“Don’t fucking stop.” You scolded. So close. So fucking close. He obeyed, continuing his assault on your dripping pussy, fingers entering your tight channel to stroke against your sensitive walls. He buried his face further into your pussy, nose coming to rest in the soft curls there as he watched you come undone. Your moans escalating in volume as you felt your body tighten with pleasure, hips begging to buck against his face as he rode you through it. He continued to lick and suck on your clit until your hands found his head, pushing him away, legs shaking as you dropped against the door, knees coming to rest around his body.

That fucking smirk, “How was that?” He asked, face glistening with your cum.

“Fuck you Ransom.” And he fucking laughed the bastard. What a fucking dick. He brought his face back to yours, gently claiming your lips. The tang of your pussy ever present as you felt him consume you. Your heart was still racing as he picked you up from the floor, bringing you into his bedroom and ever so gently laying you down on the sheets you had just changed two hours ago.

His eyes were shifting between yours, a strange expression on his face.

“You can’t kick me out tomorrow Ransom,” Your breathing was heavy as he began to work at your neck, his hands going to remove his gym shorts. “I can’t leave.” He pressed his lips back to yours as you felt him rub the tip of his dick against your clit, your body shaking with over-stimulation. It felt so intimate. Before, his eyes on yours as he brought you over with his tongue and now as he slowly enters you, stretching your walls with his thick cock, eyes not breaking contact he sighs,

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #knives out #chris evans

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years ago

Text

Something Wicked

part 4

masterlist

Hello my darlings! Here you go! Enjoy part four! We’re going to see how it works out bouncing between Jin and Yoongi’s stories, but please give me some grace between this and school, I might have to put on on hold. They’ll both get done eventually, but not quite as speedily as ADG. Thanks so much for reading!--- chaotic puff

Jin couldn’t have been happier. Granted he didn’t have his darling by his side, but he could be generous. She needed some time after the day before, and it allowed him the opportunity to swoop in and be her knight in shining armor. She was all alone now and so fragile. It was the perfect opportunity. She needed comfort, stability, and Jin was going to provide it. She would officially be his in no time. He’d already prepared the house for her.

He was thrumming with excitement. He would bring her flowers, take her to the ballet. He would woo her. She wouldn’t be able to resist his charm. No woman could, and now there were no obstacles in his way. Everything was perfect. Everything was going his way, until she stepped into his office.

He was thrilled to see her at first, thrilled that she’d chosen to come to him despite him giving her the day off, and then he took note of her appearance. Never once had he seen her in jeans, but there she was in jeans and a flowy top looking as casual as he had ever seen her. Even when he called for her assistance late at night, she came looking perfectly put together. This was new for him. Another point of notice was the dark circles that made themselves at home under her eyes. From the look of it, she hadn’t even tried to conceal them. It didn’t look like she was wearing any makeup at all, and her hair was pulled half back messily strands falling haphazardly into her face. All in all, she looked absolutely exhausted like she hadn’t slept at all, and she hadn’t.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked rising from his desk to greet her. “You look ill. You should be at home resting.” He swooped in pressing a hand to her forehead that she pushed away gently giving him a stern but tired look.

“I’m fine.” There was no smile. She always smiled at him. “I actually came to give you this.” She turned from him to dig around in her bag to retrieve an envelope, one that Jin knew exactly what was in it. It was a fucking resignation. “I apologize, sajangnim, but I won’t be able to serve you any longer.” She held out the envelope bowing politely and waiting for him to take it.

He was silent for a long terrible moment before snatching it out of her hands and ripping it in two. “No.”

She straightened up looking at him quizzically. “No?”

“No.” He growled glaring down at her.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders determined to stand her ground. “I’m sorry, sir, but this isn’t your choice to make. I’m sorry for the sudden notice, but I cannot continue to work for you.”

The words were so calm, so clinical. It infuriated him. She wanted to leave him. After everything he’d done for her, she was just going to leave? He’d built her up from nothing, and she thought she could leave? This was not his darling. This was an ungrateful brat, and Jin hated brats.

“And if I choose not to accept your resignation?”

Of course when she became his, she would no longer work for him. Kim Seokjin’s woman would have no need to work, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she was trying to leave on her own terms, and that simply wasn’t allowed, not when she belonged to him.

“Then I’ll take my leave and pay the penalty for breaking contract.” She responded chin held high though she had the drawn appearance of someone who was tottering on the brink of exhaustion. She looked small and weak, and Jin could only blame the boy for that. He was the reason for her pallor, for her exhaustion, for her defiance.

“You’re exhausted and shocked after yesterday, unsurprising for someone so delicate.” He ground out trying to keep his cool. “I’ll ignore this as a lapse of judgement caused by the stress of the last few days.”

Y/N was taken aback by that. He was brushing this off as what? The overreaction of a delicate demeanor? She made no attempt to hide how offended she was at the insinuation.

“Delicate? I do not make decisions based on exhaustion or shock. Min Seok was my fiancée,” she paused taking a breath. “Almost my fiancée. After what’s happened, I would find it inappropriate to continue working for you especially considering I’ll be hiring a lawyer to defend him.”

“What?” The question was breathed out in shock, rage barely in check. She wanted to defend the little bastard? She believed herself that in love with him? No, she was just confused. Jin would help her see reason.

“I don’t believe that he would embezzle from the company, and I’m going to stand by him. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She bowed again, turning on her heel to leave, but Jin’s far larger hand encircled her wrist tugging her back making her stumble into his chest.

“Mr. Kim.” She scolded pulling herself away.

“I’m afraid I have some terrible news for you, darling.” He cooed the sympathy coating his voice was saccharine and completely offset by the gleeful twinkle in his eye. “Kim Min Seok is dead.”

She paused the entire world standing still for a moment. “What?” The question was barely even breathed out as she stared at him with wide eyes tears welling up in them. “No.” She shook her head backing away. “You’re lying.”

“No, darling. I’m not.” He sauntered over to his desk picking up the falsified file that had been prepared for an instance just like this. “He escaped police custody and died in the attempt to flee.” He held out the file to her. “I have the file the police brought over just this morning.”

He watched attentively as every bit of color drained from her face. “No…” She whimpered. “No, no, no, no, no, no.” Her hands went up clawing into her already messy hair as she tried to make sense of the news. “He can’t be!” She cried eyes wild as she began to hyperventilate.

“I’m so sorry, darling.” He wasn’t, but the pretense of providing comfort gave him the perfect opportunity to wrap his arms around her gently rubbing his large hands up and down her arms in what was supposed to be a calming gesture. It had the opposite affect though. His proximity. The smell of his cologne. The news. It was all so overwhelming. She felt sick, dizzy.

“He can’t be dead.” She whimpered tears flowing freely now. “He can’t be. He was… he was alive. I saw him. He was fine last night. I just saw him.”

Jin shushed her pulling her further into his arms, wrapping himself around her. “It’s alright.” He cooed. “You’re going to be alright.”

“NO!” She cried ripping herself away from him not wanting him near her, not wanting him touching her. “He’s not dead!”

This man, this man was the devil. How could he tell her so casually that Min Seok was dead? How could he tell her it was alright? What kind of heartless creature was he?

“Darling…” Jin approached her slowly, carefully, not liking the way she seemed to sway on her feet. “Darling, you need to rest.”

“No.” The word was barely a whisper now as her world crumbled around her. “No. He can’t be…he isn’t.”

Jin lunged forward as he watched the swaying grow worse. He was just in time to catch her as her eyes rolled back in her head, and she began to crumple. He gently lowered them both to the floor relishing the feeling of her tucked safely away in his arms. She was still drawn, looking completely wiped out, but she was safe in his arms. He moved a strand of hair from her face lovingly, cooing at how fragile she looked in his arms.

Eventually, he pulled out his phone calling for his driver. It was time to take her home. A hospital would have been more practical, but Jin wanted her safely at home. He could bring the doctor to her.

He scooped her up in his arms carrying her out of his office. It was a spectacle. The employees were all clamoring at the sight wanting to know if she was alright. He brushed them all citing exhaustion as the reason behind it all. She’d be well soon enough. Jin would make sure of that. His darling would have the best care, and she’d soon forget all about her suitor. She had Jin. What need would she have for anyone else?

Y/N came to in a horribly familiar room. This was not her home, nor was it the hospital despite the IV that was attached to her arm. This was Jin’s home. This was his bedroom. The panic did not set in slowly. It came all at once like an all-encompassing wave. The panic only worsened when she realized, these were not her clothes. She didn’t own anything this fine. She didn’t own nightgowns let alone long silk nightgowns. She preferred the same ratty old comfortable pajamas she had had for years.

She ripped the IV out of her arm uncaring about the pain or the blood. Her only focus was making it to the door and getting the hell out of there. She didn’t know why Jin had brought her there, but she didn’t want to find out. She ran through the penthouse stumbling down the stairs in her desperate dash for the door.

This wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She never came her of her own volition. It was too intimate. Not even Jin’s parade of women would go to his home, and it always made her skin crawl when the called her there.

It was an easy dash. She knew the way. She had been to Jin’s home many times before, but when she reached the door, she found something she was not so familiar with. There was a lock placed there that had never been there before. It was sleek and black, ominous. But still she tried the door even though she was unsure if it would open for her. It did not. She tugged at the handle trying her hardest to open it out of sheer force of will, but it was unyeilding. She tried the keypad as well, tapping in every combination she could think of, but every time, the keypad flashed red telling her she had failed.

“Please!” She shrieked banging on the door. “Please!” She continued to scream and plead banging against the unyielding wood. No one was there though.

Jin lived on a private floor. The elevator opened to a narrow hallway separating the penthouse from the rest of the building. Her only hope would be if someone was coming up to the penthouse and would hear her screams. It was unlikely though. Jin didn’t like anyone invading his space, his immaculate home, and there was no sign of the house keeper that made his home so immaculate. The most likely person to find her was Jin himself, and at this time, he was not someone she wanted to see.

The commotion had summoned him though. He stayed back watching indifferently as she screamed and cried trying to leave, but Jin had planned for that. She wouldn’t be able to get past the lock. He’d allow her out in time, but for now he needed to make her his sweet darling again, his sweet obedient darling. The boy had made her defiant, a brat. Jin wouldn’t put up with that, and it was safer to keep her inside away from harm while she grieved, while she adjusted. Jin would be everything she needed. She’d see that soon enough. She’d realize how lucky she was, how perfect they were together.

He watched her until she’d tired herself out slumped against the door crying, trembling and completely exhausted before he made a move.

“Oh darling,” he clucked sympathetically coming to crouch next to her crumpled form. “Look at you. You’ve exhausted yourself.” He tutted fussing over her and moving her hair away from her face even though she flinched back from him violently. “Now, now, darling. None of that.”

He scooped her up, ignoring her weak struggles. She couldn’t struggle against him really. She’d used what little energy she had trying to open a locked door. His poor stupid darling.

The doctor had confirmed that she was dehydrated and exhausted. That combined with the shock had been too much for her. She’d be fine after some rest and a good meal.

“The doctor didn’t want you up and about yet. And you’ve hurt yourself, my poor darling.” He fussed looking at the place where she’s ripped out the IV, stubborn girl. There was blood smeared against her arm. She hadn’t been gentle when she’d ripped it out. She’d caused herself more damage than needed.

He could have tied her down, prevented this, but it was better for her to know now that she wouldn’t be leaving him. He was the only one with the code to open the door, and they were too high up for her to consider something as foolhardy as jumping from the balcony. It also helped that she had a decided fear of heights. It was something he’d discovered when he’d brought her on her first international business trip with him. She’d been petrified the entire flight despite their luxurious seats. She wouldn’t be making any stupid decisions like that, and if she did? God help her. Jin would not put up with such disobedience.

“Let’s get you back to bed. Okay, darling?” He asked smiling down at her with a lovesick expression. Everything would be perfect now.

part 5

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts seokjin #bts jin #kim seokjin #ceo seokjin #yandere seokjin #jin #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #yandere jin #yandere #ceo au #ceo #ceo jin #dark romance #fanfic #bts fanfic

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buttercup-of-kaer-morhen · 4 years ago

Note

Hello yes I am Completely Anonymous ONCE AGAIN and I have a prompt for you! Temporary (perhaps potion or drug induced?) Amnesiac!Geralt being absolutely floored and delighted that Jaskier is his lover. Please and thank you.

Hey completely anon,

I may or may not have gone a little off script for this prompt and really wanted to write more for my dumb magical college AU. Hope you enjoy it anyway. May I present!

Magic and Exams: Amnesia

Main tags: college AU, it’s modern but with magic slapped in, Jaskier and Yenn are besties (Fight me), Lambert/Aiden kinda?, Non human Jaskier, And they were roommates~, pure fluff, pre relationship, pining… Kinda, unbetaed, we die like Renfri

——

It was official! Fate was cruel and destiny hated him. Jaskier had been fine with how life had been going. Classes were good. Friends were great. And, you know, he had finally stepped into a tentative friendship territory with his hot roomie rather than that weird close relationship you develop with your roomie. Things were just grand!-- Ignore the fact that he had a monster crush on said roomie, not important!-- What was important was that Lambert, the ass, suddenly showed up on Jaskier’s free day-- a day he was dedicating to his reading and composing, bouncing around his hobbies as he pleased-- with a semi confused looking Geralt. The witcher had barged into the dorm room towing Geralt along as Aiden brought up the rear. Now, he was going to ignore this intrusion at first but Lamby seemed to have other ideas. He loudly proclaimed to the bewildered white wolf that this was his room and, oh look, his partner. “Go ham bro!” To which, Geralt’s gaze snapped to Jaskier and proceeded to silently stare at the musician in contemplation.

Jaskier, as one would imagine, was stunned as his brain tried to understand what was happening but the dickhead explained no further as he turned to leave. Having none of it, Jaskier quickly stumbled to his feet and bolted for the two retreating figures, almost tripping several times on the shit covering the floor-- he really needed to remember to clean one of these just as Geralt had nagged him to do days ago! He managed to get a hand on the other wolf before he fully got out the door. “Explain. Now.” He demanded, his voice warbling as his eyes darkened slightly.

“Woah shrimp!Calm your tits, you’re starting to look a little red around the gills-- Seriously though, a little siren is beginning to show.” Lambert tried to make light of the situation-- fish puns again, really Lambert?-- even though his smile gained a touch of nervousness as Jaskier tightened his grip. He held back his claws for the moment but he was this close to having a truly marvelous freak out on the man if he didn’t start giving answers.

“Calm down angelfish, Lambert’s just being a prick as per usual.” Aiden cut off anything Lambert was going to say. Lambert gasped in betrayal as he gave the third witcher a look that probably tried to convey how much he was wounded, he couldn’t really see though nor did he really care right now. “Situation is, we were having a class trip across campus, something monster related that our proff was gushing the fuck over and insisted we needed to see. Waaaay too excited over it if you ask me but while we were passing a class of freshies in an outdoor charms 101 class, this one chick starts going off at--” Aiden explained but really, it seemed more like he was slowly getting off topic as he spoke.

“Kitty, Get. To. The. Point.” He insisted slowly punctuating each word, while frowning in annoyance.

“Rude. I am! Anyway, this girl gets into a row with this guy in her class and fires off some kind of spell which was deflected but hilariously it ricocheted right towards us.” That was not hilarious in anyway but rather terrifying but Jaskier refrained from pointing this out. “You know Geralt though, life loves to fuck with him, so he gets hit straight in the back with it and Poof! He can’t remember some shit now. We think he only remembers up to starting college but nothing after.” Aiden finally finishes with a proud smile at having riveted the musician with his tale of adventure but it diminishes slightly in the face of Jaskier’s baffled expression. The half-siren really was quite proud of it, it just conveyed the right amount of Are you fucking idiots or did you just lose your brain on the way over!?

Jaskier took a deep breath and calmed himself before flatly staring both in the eye, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he thought of how to respond. “And why, pray tell, did you bring my accidentally spelled roommate to me rather than sending him to infirm?” He asked, deceptively sweet with a razor’s edge to it.

Lambert scoffed. “He was being fucking annoying--” His words were abruptly cut off by Aiden’s hand roughly smacking over his mouth.

“What he means is…” Aiden growled, glaring at the wolf to make sure he kept his mouth shut, to which Lambert huffed and flipped him off but otherwise remained silent. “Geralt kept prodding us ‘bout going to see his partner and, well, you were like the only one we could think of since everyone else has someone and this idiot is single like you.” The man punctuated his simplistic logic with a small shrug.

Jaskier took a deep breath through his nose. “Uh-huh… This is a terrible fucking idea--” Before he could finish what he wanted to say, Lambert suddenly yanked his self free of his grip and threw Aiden over his shoulder.

“Your problem now bard!” He called over his shoulder as he booked it down the hall, cackling like the bastard he was.

“Oh nonononono! Get the fuck back here!” He called after fruitlessly. They were already long gone.

Jaskier sighed as he turned and closed the door to their room. Geralt seemed to have ignored and blocked out the whole exchange. Whether out of courtesy for Jaskier privacy or in favor of refamiliarizing himself with their space, he’d never know nor did he really care. When he finally turned his gaze back onto Jaskier, he just stared while scowling intensely in thought. It was rather insulting if Jaskier was being frank. With a roll of the eyes, the musician realized he’d just have to roll with whatever the idiots told Geralt about their “relationship” but wanted to head off the coming disappointment from the witcher. Jaskier was obviously not what he had been expecting, especially since normally the man barely tolerated him much less ever tried to invite him out, but it would sting less if he were the one to address it rather than the larger man stating it. At least that’s what he told himself. “Ok, alright. I know I’m not what you were expecting and rather disappointing compared to some of your past dalliances but please, let’s just get you to infirm. Once you have your head back on right, everything will make more sense about the whole us thing and we can just forget about this whole embarrass--”

“You’re so handsome…” Geralt’s awed words cut Jaskier’s rambling off at the knees and had him blinking in surprise. “Or cute. No, both… How do you manage to be both?!” Geralt’s marveling had Jaskier at a loss for words. The witcher had never once complimented him in all the time they had lived together. Barbed jabs? Yes. Playful teasing? Very Often. Statements of facts? Definitely. But actual full on compliments? Nope! No, never happened. Was this how he actually saw the musician or was this some hokey hocus pocus side effect?! Or the man was dying as they spoke and was out of his mind. Either way Jaskier snapped his mouth closed, no it had not been hanging open thank you very much, and tried to get his brain to work again.

“Wai-What?” Smooth Jaskier. His flabbergasted tone and excessive blinking seemed to not queue in Geralt however.

“Man, I really lucked out. How’d I get a catch like you to even look my way? Wish I could remember how…” The normally stoic individual whistled long and low as he gave Jaskier a once over. A once over! Like Jaskier was a hottie from a club-- or however Ren said it-- instead of some music nerd overloaded with college minors! Jaskier was so astonished and caught off guard that he bagan sputtering incoherently, much to the Witcher’s amusement apparently if the wolfish grin was anything to go by. He was shocked and scandalized! Delighted but absolutely shocked! He had never witnessed this side of his roommate. Instead of addressing whatever was happening here, Jaskier stumbled over to his phone on the bed and quickly dialed Yennefer.

It rang twice before he heard the familiar click of her answering and began nearly shouting before she could give her usual passive aggressive hello. “Yenn! I need help--”

“Whoa, calm the fuck down Jask, what the hell happened?!” Her worried demands cut him off. It was rather heartwarming to know his best friend sounded ready to draw blood for him. He could coo and awe about that later though!

“I’m fine but Geralt got hit with some hoodoo amnesia magic but I think it’s really just killing him! He’s acting delusional Yenn! He called me cute-- Stop laughing! This is serious!” He attempted to explain what was going on but his witch cut him off with her hysterical laughing on the other end of the line. Rude, by the way. This was a very serious matter.

“Sorry Dandy, you just, whew, gave me the best pick me up, I could have asked for. You really got me.” Yenn attempted to speak after most of it calmed down but a few giggles still managed to slip out.

“Yenn… I’m serious. He actually doesn--” He was cut off yet again. People really needed to cut that shit out.

“Lemme guess, Lambert is somehow involved?” She questioned, finally taking him a little more seriously, and he could practically hear her eye roll at the mischief maker’s name.

“Yes…” He confirmed slowly as his eye wandered to Geralt again as his panic died down slightly. The white haired man looked very confused as Jaskier tried to smile reassuringly but it probably came off as unsure at best.

The larger man came closer and placed warm large hands on his biceps as he looked intently into Jaskier’s eyes. “I mean it… I’m sorry if I never told you, I guess I was a pretty shitty boyfriend if I never told you how wonderful and caring you seem to be.” The other man apologized, as he looked away in shame. The words had the musician’s heart going wild as Yenn continued to talk in his ear. He really couldn’t hear her over his heart beating in his ears but it sounded like a demand to get Geralt to the infirmary.

To which Jaskier answered, “That’s nice dear. I think I have to go to infirm now because I believe my heart is about to give out.” His voice was sighed out in shock as he hung up on Yenn’s sudden worried screeching. Geralt on the other hand suddenly looked panicked and rather worried.

“What?” He questioned as he started to look over his “boyfriend”. “Don’t worry Jask, I’ll get you there. Just hang on.” Geralt tried to reassure him, his voice was handsome with how rough and rumbling it suddenly was, as he scooped the smaller man up into his arms like a bride. No, Jaskier did not swoon he’ll have you know! The wolf then booked it out of the room. “Damn it! I wish Roach were here…” He muttered in a growl and Jaskier thanked the heavens that the man did not remember his horse-- cat? Was in their room sleeping. There would be plenty of rumors after this but it especially would have gone down in infamy if the Witcher had rode like the wind across campus on horseback again. Jaskier couldn’t do much at that point except lay back, accept his fate, and enjoy the other’s cooing, about taking care of his boyfriend or how good Jaskier was, while it lasted. But hey, at least he’d finally get Geralt to infirm.

#Witcher #witcher netflix #Geraskier #fanfic #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #non human jaskier #college au #Lambert #Aiden #lambert/aiden #yennefer #Jaskier and Yennefer besties #Buttercup's writings

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dhwty-writes · 4 years ago

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We Were Born Sick - 1

I love how we as a fandom somehow collectively decided that homophobia is Not A Thing on the Continent. However, I live for angst. So, naturally, I had to write a fic where this is not the case. I blame @spielzeugkaiser for this with their art and also their encouragement. I also guess that I should preamble this fic that I felt absolutely horrible and upset writing it. It is (for some parts) not a nice thing to read either. Read the tags. Read the warnings. Take care of yourselves.

Summary: The bard leaned against a pillar and propped one leg on a stool, strumming his lute loudly. Well, maybe he could wait a bit longer. Just a few glances more. Humans were so inattentive; they never saw him looking. If they did, if they suspected even for a moment, he'd be willing to do more than just stare- Let's say his parting from Blaviken would have been almost idyllic in comparison. 'Prejudiced pricks, the lot of them,' he thought angrily.

OR five times Geralt and Jaskier kept their sexuality a secret and one time they were found out.

Warnings: implied/referenced homophobia, homophobic language (or that can be interpreted as such)

Read on AO3

Geralt eyed the bard blaring in the corner warily. Why did humans have to be so loud about everything? It was maddening, truly. Since his own trials he could understand Vesemir's complaints much better. Despite the decades gone by since then, he still envied them sometimes. They at least didn’t have to witness how obnoxious they were. No, most of them appeared to be completely oblivious to their loudness.

Like this one, for example. It wasn't necessarily that the bard was bad — his voice was pretty enough, as was his face. But his songs were dreadful. And horribly inaccurate at that. As if that wasn't enough, that specimen wasn't just loud in his singing, he was loud about everything else, too. His clothes were too colourful for Geralt's eyes, his smiles too sweet, his gestures to grand. The witcher couldn't wait to finish his drink and be able to get out of the shitty town he was in.

The bard leaned against a pillar and propped one leg on a stool, strumming his lute loudly. Well, maybe he could wait a bit longer. Just a few glances more. Humans were so inattentive; they never saw him looking. If they did, if they suspected even for a moment, he'd be willing to do more than just stare- Let's say his parting from Blaviken would have been almost idyllic in comparison. 'Prejudiced pricks, the lot of them,' he thought angrily.

He could remember Vesemir's stern talk as if it had been yesterday. He had caught him and Eskel behind the barn, entangled in an almost innocent embrace, exchanging not so innocent kisses. With a heavy sigh he had separated them and led them back into the keep. "I won't say a word," he had said, "as long as the two of you won't be slacking. But in a few years the two of you will set out on the Path and humans disdain it when two men lie together."

"Why?" they had asked naively.

"Why do they call us monsters? Why do they abuse their peasants? Why do they despise whores? Most of them can only see as far as their noses. Just be careful, lads."

They had promised him and to this day they had kept their oath. Once on the path Geralt had discovered that he liked a woman's embrace just as well as a man's and that was that. It was alright. Still, he wasn't immune to the charm of a handsome young man. Especially not one with a pretty voice, who-

Who was coming right towards him. Shit.

"I love the way you just... sit in the corner and brood," the young man said with a sly smile and leaned against another pillar. Seemed to be a habit. He had fidgety hands, too. Geralt hated fidgety hands.

"I'm here to drink alone," he grunted and looked away. Best not be caught staring.

"Good, yeah, good," he answered quickly. Geralt could feel curious eyes sizing him up. "No-one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except..." He drew closer. "...for you." Before Geralt had a chance to respond he continued. "Come on," he drawled. "You don't want a man with...," he made an emphatic gesture, "... bread in his pants waiting."

Geralt gritted his teeth. Was this some kind of come on? If so, it was terrible.

"You must have some review for me," he babbled on and took a seat he hadn’t been offered. "Three words or less."

He half expected him to keep on talking. Instead an awkward silence stretched between them. "They don't exist," he answered trying to keep a straight face. 'Shit.' The bard was annoying as fuck, why did he find it endearing?

"What don't exist?" He started fidgeting with his hands again.

"The creatures in your song."

"And how would you know?"

Geralt almost snorted with laughter. Really? 'Why do the pretty ones always have to be that dumb?' Instead of saying that, however, he just glared pointedly.

"Oh, fun." The bard barely kept himself from drumming with his hands and licked his lips. "White hair..." He rubbed his hands and repeated that... tongue thing. Annoyingly adorable. "... big, old loner, two very..." Geralt reached for his coin purse and stood up, leaving his last coin on the table. He had heard quite enough. This conversation was getting out of hand. "... very scary-looking swords. I know who you are."

He grabbed his swords and fled as calmly as possible. Fuck, why was the bard still hurrying after him?

"You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia." He gritted his teeth again. Just his fucking luck. First time in years his stares had been noticed, then the bard had wanted to fucking talk and now he'd been recognised, too. "Called it," the bastard shouted as if nothing had happened. Geralt just hoped that he got out of town fast enough before a freaking mob formed.

His hopes sank when he heard heavy steps behind him. Oh, great. Fucking bards. Not a stealthy bone in their body, the lot of them. "A job I've got for ya," a young voice said, but Geralt kept on walking. He had quite enough of Posada. "I beg you."

'Shit.' He stopped. Vesemir always said his heart was too soft.

"A devil- he's been stealin' all our grain," the man explained and Geralt exhaled forcefully and turned. "In advance, I'll pay you. A hundred ducats."

He sighed. "One fifty," he demanded.

He pulled out a hefty coin purse, weighing it in his hands. "I've no doubt you'll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear." As he offered up the purse the bard from before stepped into view again, looking at him intently. ‘Oh, hell no.’

Geralt swallowed the words that had been on the tip of his tongue. He grabbed the purse and left as quickly as he could.

He was far more surprised than he should be when he heard hurried steps behind him, the wheezing of the bard announcing his presence. "Need a hand?" he called and Geralt rolled his eyes. "I've got two. One for each of the, uh, devil's horns." Was this another attempt at flirting? He could only hope not.

"Go away," he answered gruffly. The last thing he needed was that... that... bardlet trailing after him. No matter how cute he looked.

"I won't be but silent back-up," the bardlet promised, nearly smacking him in the face with his wildly gesturing hands. Geralt doubted that very much. Apparently, he was waiting for a response, because there was a pause before he continued: "Look, I heard your note, and, yes, you're right, maybe real adventures would make better stories."

Roach snorted in amusement. The bard didn't care, though, and kept on babbling: "And you, sir, smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion? It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak."

Geralt had to take a steadying breath. How one human could spout so much bullshit in such a short time was beyond him. "It's onion," he grunted, hoping that would shut him up.

It didn't. Why was he even bothering? "Right, yeah. Yeah," the bard said with a quiet voice. This time Geralt didn't hope for silence. Still, what came next was so exceptionally stupid that he had to stop in his tracks: "Oh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the- the Butcher of Blaviken."

He closed his eyes and barely kept the pained grimace off his face. This lad was giving him a headache. 'Fucking idiot, don't you think, Roach?' He looked at his horse for a moment before turning to the bard. "Come here," he requested and motioned him over.

"Yeah," the bard said eagerly, a wide smile on his face. Geralt almost felt bad for the blow that punched that bard's air from his lungs. Almost. There were a lot of things he didn't need. Least of them a barker.

As the bard was still wheezing and groaning on the ground, Geralt turned and rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Come on, Roach," he said and tugged on her reins.

In hindsight, Geralt shouldn't be surprised that the lad kept following him. He also shouldn't be surprised that he didn't stop talking for one fucking minute, except for when he was unconscious. He really shouldn't be surprised that that got them captured.

'Fuck,' he thought as he woke up, bound to the laughingstock of a bard who, of all things, probably thought his smug comments about 'escaping' and 'witchering' were funny. Shit, how on earth was such an idiot allowed to travel unsupervised? 'Probably isn't,' he thought angrily. By the looks of him he had just escaped from his wetnurse. 'I hate humans sometimes.'

He guessed he should be allowed some surprise given the bard's apparent knowledge of Elder speech. Especially at his impeccable accent. 'Oxenfurt trained, then,' he noted. They really did admit any idiot these days.

As if to further prove his utter idiocy he kept. on. talking. 'So, he's not only stupid but blind, too.' Who the fuck kept teasing their captors about their golden palaces while obviously bound in a fucking stone cave?

In the end, he didn't remember how he'd managed to talk them out of that death trap. Or why it had been him and not the one who made money with his words. Or how he'd gotten a new lute for the bard on top. Or why. Shit, he was going to get an earful from Vesemir that winter. And Eskel. And Lambert, gods above and below, he'd never hear the end of it.

Still, somehow, they walked free. And the bard kept on talking: "Credit where credit is due, that whole reverse psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way." His voice dropped as he tried to imitate Geralt. Annoyingly accurate, if he was honest. "'Kill me. I'm ready.'"

He looked down at him disbelievingly. Did the bard really think himself in a place to humour him?

Judging by the innocent look on his face, yes, he absolutely did. "That's the conclusion," the bard continued. "They just let us go and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

"Filavandrel's lute not gift enough for you?" he asked, doing his best to keep a smile from his face.

"Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn't she?"

Geralt was glad the bard couldn't see him grin at that. He didn't listen to what he was spouting next, but then-

Then, the bard started singing. "Will the elf king heed / What the witcher entreats? / Is history a wheel / Doomed to repeat?" Thankfully, it was him who said: "No, that's... that's shit." Geralt couldn't agree more.

"This is where we part ways, bard, for good."

He expected another joke at that. Maybe even an undignified gasp, or something of that sort. He didn't expect solemnity: "Look, I promised to change the public's tune about you. At least allow me to try."

To his even bigger surprise, the next lines out of the bard's mouth weren't complete rubbish: "When a humble bard / Graced a ride along / With Geralt of Rivia / Along came this song // When the White Wolf fought / A silver-tongued devil / His army of elves / At his hooves did they revel // They came after me / With masterful deceit / Broke down my lute and / They kicked in my teeth // While the devil's horns / Minced our tender meat / And so cried the Witcher / 'He can't be bleat!'"

Geralt tightened the reins sharply. "That's not how it happened," he accused him. "Where's your newfound respect?"

"Respect doesn't make history," the bard answered simply. As if that was a line, he could just come up with without carefully having to craft it for hours. While Geralt was still busy staring dumbstruck, the bard already carried on with his song.

'Shit,' he thought as the slightest of smiles curved his lips upwards. If he hadn't been able to discourage him before, there was no getting rid of him now. He suspected he should care more about that than he did.

Geralt soon discovered a lot of things about the bard. Firstly, his name was Jaskier. 'A pretty name for a pretty man,' his mind supplied unhelpfully.

Secondly, he was dramatic. Came with the profession, he figured. Still, who monologued about a torn seam? For three hours at that?!

That was the third thing — or rather the first: Jaskier never shut up. Not while setting up camp, not when he was wheezing from an impromptu sprint, not while eating, not even while pissing, if he knew Geralt was within earshot. He even talked in his sleep, for fuck's sake. It should be more annoying than it was. And way less attractive.

But Geralt quickly discovered that he enjoyed listening to Jaskier's tales. He also discovered that his stories were decidedly more accurate than his songs. He liked hearing of his time in Oxenfurt, of his lessons, his friends, his mischief. He loved to see his eyes light up when Geralt inquired about a particular professor he'd known in his youth. He adored to hear of his various conquests, always listening intently to hear if he was stumbling over pronouns. He didn't. Pity that.

But even if he had, he was human. And way too young. 'Eighteen, for Melitele's sake,' he thought, 'and still wet behind the ears.' At his age Geralt had already passed the Trial of the Grasses twice, slept with half the witchers his age and slain his first monster.

Jaskier walked the Path blind for any danger, as if monster teeth and steel swords couldn't hurt him. He gave him three months before he begged to be returned to Oxenfurt, naive as he was. Always chasing skirts, too, blatantly ignoring the marital status of his conquests. He exclusively female conquests. “What do you think, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, unabashedly ogling the barmaid. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Hm,” he answered. It had become his standard reply to the incessant flood of words spilling from the bard’s mouth. ‘Not as pretty as you,’ he thought in the privacy of his mind. “Deserves better,” he muttered quiet enough he hoped the bard wouldn’t hear.

Of course, he did. And pouted adorably. “What, are you doubting my abilities as a lover? I assure you I never left a lover wanting.”

He snorted. “Thinking highly of yourself, do you?”

“Of course. Confidence is practically part of the job description as a bard. Well, excuse me now. I have to see to the needs of a pretty m- uh, maid.” He got up and quickly slipped away.

Geralt was left with his thoughts and his ale. ‘Huh,’ he thought. Jaskier usually didn’t stumble over his words like that. Maybe- He strained his ears but all he could hear was Jaskier conversing with the barmaid. ‘Not a queer, then,’ he decided finally. Still, a pity that. He was very pretty indeed.

#my writing #geraskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #vesemir #past geralt/eskel #tw homophobia #tw: implied/referenced homophobia #homophobic language

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satan-the-avatar-of-wrath · 5 years ago

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Walking Disaster

He sat there reading, this book conflicting and further twisting the annoying emotions within him. He wanted to hate the book, but related so much to it. The main character was living the best life, overcoming all their issues, even romancing the beautiful maiden. While, the secondary character constantly lives in the shadows, always wanting and wishing for me then what they got.

He heavily sighed, one hand massaging his thumping temples, an attempt to sooth the pain.

Satan carefully placed the book mark in its place and closed the book, tossing it aside on the table with a blunt ‘thud’. Reading to escape, only to be trapped mentally within a book; how painfully beautiful. He laughed at himself, an urge with in pressing forth to destroy his surroundings.

“This won’t do.”

He needed to stretch his legs and clear his mind, perhaps a walk was in order.

Pushing himself up from the chair, he sighed again, the pain worsening as he stood vertically up right.

“I’ve over done it again, haven’t I?…”

‘Weakling’ He mocked himself.

Walking towards the door, his image reflecting in the mirror stopped him in his tracks. To others he may look ‘well put together’ but he knew the façade, all the acting he required. His fingers slipping into his gold hair, brushing it to the side, he pauses again.

‘Doesn’t Lucifer brush it to this side?’

He frowned, clicking his tongue, and hastily brushing it to the other side. The more he tried the angrier he felt, wrath spewing forth, everything gone red.

*SMASH*

Pieces of mirror, falling and shattering even more as they hit the floor. The sound bringing him back, panting for air, his fist still pressed into the broken mirror.

He slowly retracts, fist clenched tight, blood already at the skin.

“Damn it all.”

Satan shakes off the remaining pieces in his flesh, and walk out quickly from his room. He just needed to make it outside, no runs ins, no delays, his patience wearing thin.

Turning the corner quickly, he sets his sights on the stairs near the entrance, ‘almost there’.

“Ah Satan, good I was just looking for you.” Lucifer calls not too far behind.

He freezes on spot, eyes still locked on the entrance door.

‘So close, yet so far’

“I was just on my way to you, to discuss the speech you are to-“ Lucifer stops, Satan turns around suspiciously to the silence.

He notices the eldest line of sight, tucking away his messy hand.

“What have you done, Satan?”

“Nothing, I need air, if you’ll excuse me..” He turns around again and quickly takes a few steps down.

“I’m here if you need me, I will listen, you don’t have to do this on your own.”

Satan stops dead in his tracks, a laugh slipping from his lips, he looks to Lucifer. Eyes swirling with chaos, a wicked smile plastered upon his face.

“Charmed, perhaps YOU should practise what you preach!” Before Lucifer could respond, Satan leaped the last few steps and with large strides was out of the house.

He made haste to get away from the entry of the grounds, inhaling deep the Devildom night air. Satan felt limitless, as if all the weight was being lifted from his chest, he closed his eyes and submitted to the feeling.

“OH MY GOD SATAN, ARE YOU ALRIGHT!?”

A familiar worrisome voice broke him from the moment, looking to see Y/N staring in shock.

“Satan are you okay, your hand is bleeding, come on lets go get it cleaned up” Y/N reaches and pinches some of Satan’s jacket, dragging him gently back.

You worrying about him gave him a warm feeling, but knowing full well whose arms you’ll be in right after….

Satan quickly shook you off, “It’s fine, excuse Me.” trying to get away from you, quickly.

“Satan we need to-“

Red begins to pulsate in his vision, as he turned and shouted, “I SAID IM FINE DAMN IT!”

Y/N trembled and stumbled back a couple steps, seeing the fear fleet across your face tightened his chest. “Wait, Y/N I’m sorr-“

But before he could get his words out, you took off, tears streaming down your face.

Frustration spilled forward, “AHHHHHHH” shouting at the emptiness that was left.

…

He walked around for quite some time before stopping at a bench, sitting down. He leaned forward, hands grasping his head, muttering.

“Why? Why did I have to do that?! It’s not their fault; it’s his, its fucken Lucifer’s!”

Just then..

“Tell me brother, what have I done now?”

Satan’s head shoots up, as Lucifer stands arms folded. No words were said as they stared at each other.

Lucifer gestures to the open space next to Satan. “Is that seat taken?”

“I’m going home!” He tries to escape from Lucifer’s watchful eyes, but to no triumph.

Lucifer blocks his way, “Sit down, I think you and I need to have a chat.” It wasn’t suggestion, but order in Lucifer’s tone.

Reluctantly Satan obeyed, he huffed as he planted himself back on the bench, closing his eyes for the 3 hour ‘chat’. To his surprise Lucifer said nothing; he gracefully sat down and looked to the dark sky.

The wind blew gently, noises from the busy streets afar and their breathing, t’was all that could be heard.

“Well?” Satan asks impatiently.

Lucifer doesn’t move, his eyes quickly looking over and back to the sky.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? You obviously don’t want to talk about why you smashed your mirror, then so be it. Perhaps explain to me then why Y/N came rushing in crying, only to lock themselves away in their room?”

Guilt stabbed Satan, he groaned and leant forward again, hands knitted together in his hair.

“Whatever you said is not of my concern, however, you should apologise none the less.” Lucifer observed Satan, it was obvious to him Satan was frustrated, but why? “and-“

“-And what?! You want me to apologise next for breaking MY mirror, want me to apologise for walking away, OR DO YOU WANT ME TO APOLOGISE FOR EXISTING?!” He stood abruptly, and shouted down to Lucifer.

Lucifer folds his arms again and hums to himself, “So that’s it..”

“That’s what then? Tell me then brother, seeing as you know everything!!”

Satan huffed and puffed, waiting for Lucifer to answer.

….

“You’re wrong Satan, I don’t know everything, but what I do know is you are angry with me…. Though, that still doesn’t excuse you from everything else.” He locks eyes with Satan, Lucifer’s eyes filled with guilt and concern. “So tell me, what I have done now, what I must do to help you.”

Satan was seething with frustration at this point, how he could just sit there and not know!! He exploded, and not just with rage, but with an aching need.

“I wasn’t chosen or created with purpose like the rest of you!! I was created from spite and rage, your damn rage! How can I ever break away from you when I’m always compared to you? Why does everything and everyone revolve around you?” He points to Lucifer, hand shaking. “Why can’t I be noticed and acknowledged for me, why… why can’t I ever be chosen for once...”

Satan swallows hard, a lump building in his throat, a draining and desperate feeling consuming him.

Lucifer diverts his eyes down towards his feet, “I’m sorry you feel that way..”

“SORRY!!!??” Satan felt the need to launch himself forward, struggling for control.

“You’re smart Satan, I’ve always known that, but right now you’re acting incredibly dense.” Lucifer chuckles lightly as he rises.

Satan lunges forward “BASTARD-“

Lucifer quickly steps aside, but before Satan could counter, he speaks up.

“You’re right you weren’t created with purpose from the father above, but you gave me purpose, you gave your brothers purpose.”

Satan turns around stunned; Lucifer sighs deep and continues.

“It doesn’t matter how or why you were created Satan, but the fulfilment you created for us… The joy and the feelings of watching you grow into your own individual. The good and the bad, we were all at our wits end, then suddenly… You were there… When we were at our lowest, it was YOU who helped us back up. You helped keep us together, while we learned alongside you in this new strange land… Our family may not be perfect Satan, and extremely dysfunctional even at its best, but you helped hold us together in our darkest times. We chose you, as you may not have had the choice then, but you saved us… That was your purpose.” Lucifer held Satan’s stare, and smiled only just.

“Now, come on. There are things to be done, and to be said.” He turned around swiftly and began walking back towards the house.

Satan stood there and watched his back, as he walked away.

“I … did that?....”

END

#mun takes a break to write #satan and lucifer #brothers #obey me! shall we date?#obey me!#obey me! satan #obey me! lucifer #purpose #anger #creation #happy sad moments #feels

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thejollyroger-writer · 5 years ago

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To Serve and Protect - Chapter 4

y’all, this is just about my favorite chapter ever. enjoy. please don’t yell too much.

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump coming in this chapter. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. – rated teen for later chapters

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4 on AO3

-- -- -- --

She feels like she’s moving in water. Something’s not right — in fact, something is terribly wrong. She shouldn’t — she shouldn’t be here. She knows where here is, knows that she’s been here before, but she can’t place it.

Everything is wrong.

Everything is… hazy. Foggy. It’s hot. It’s — dear god, it’s way too hot. Is that why she can’t see?

Breathe, Emma, she thinks. She thinks it, but that doesn’t help much. It’s like there’s something pressing on her lungs, something holding her down. She has to get a hold of herself, she has to, because if she doesn’t…

It’s like she’s been here before. Not just in this situation, but in this… She tries to look around, to figure out where she is, because she knows she’s been here before.

That’s when she hears it. It chills her to the bone, hearing it again after so long, but it’s a sound that she will never forget. A sound that’s haunted her nightmares for years. Because a laugh like that is something that she will never forget.

“What did you do?” she says, but her voice is wrong — it’s not coming from her, but from somewhere else.

He laughs again, a laugh that she feels in her spine. Pulls the cigarette out from between his teeth and passes it down the line, to Felix, who uncrosses his arms and takes it from him. His eyes never leave hers. None of them do, the whole semi-circle standing around her watching her from the chair.

“Oh, Ems,” he says finally, barking out a laugh as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You have to know that it has nothing to do with you, right?”

“What does that even mean?” It’s her voice, she feels the words in her throat, but she’s still not the one saying them.

In place of an answer, Neal checks his wrist, a smile spreading across his lips. No, no, not — not a smile. A smirk? He looks back at her, silent.

“Neal, what is going on?” Her voice gets caught in her throat, choking back a sob. “Please, baby, tell me what’s happening.”

“Oh, baby ,” he says, an obvious air of humor in his voice.

Emma finds none of this funny.

“You fell for it,” he says, leaning closer to her. She can smell the cigarettes on his breath, which he knows she hates but never stopped doing anyway. “All of it, like the scared little girl you are,” he whispers. He smiles.

“Neal,” she sobs, feeling it in her throat even though it’s still not where the sound is coming from.

There’s a knock on the basement door — that’s where she is, in the basement of the big house — and Rufio opens it, revealing two police officers.

“Mr. Gold?” one of them calls, and everyone turns towards Neal.

His aura changes immediately, turning from the criminal Emma now knows him to be and back to the ambassador’s son. He straightens his shoulders, pushes his hair back into a more proper style. “Yes, thank you for coming out so quickly, officers.” His voice is less harsh, more serious. He smiles at them, but something is off.

One of the officers returns his smile, obviously taken by his charm . Emma feels the words he’s going to say before he says them, like ice running through her veins: “Well, when we get a call for a citizen’s arrest from the ambassador’s house, it’s a bit of a priority.”

Citizen’s arrest.

“You fell for it.”

Suddenly, she fears she may lose the contents of her stomach.

No, no , not quite. She… knows she’s going to lose the contents of her stomach.

“You’ll find the stolen watches in the truck of her car,” Neal tells them. “The yellow bug just out these doors. And I think —” he turns to her, as if he wasn’t already totally sure of the answer. “I think she’s also wearing one, too.”

The bastard . The total, absolute, god damned bastard. He knows full well she’s wearing one because he put it there himself just the night before, sitting next to her in the park overlooking the harbor. “Just one more day,” he had told her, tightening the band around her wrist. “Tomorrow I’m getting my affairs in order and then we can go wherever you want.”

Bastard.

“No, no, please,” she says, her sobs getting caught in her-throat-but-not- her -throat again. “You don’t understand.” She doesn’t even try to fight them, knows there’s no use trying to fight with the officers.

If Neal stole those watches — which wouldn’t surprise her anymore — they are in the back of her car. It was part of their getaway plan, selling the watches, though he told her they were gifts . Just like the one he gave her — a gift .

“I’ll - I’ll tell you everything.” It’s the truth. She is going to tell them everything, all she knows about Neal, but whether they’ll believe her or not is a different story. She’s 17, a minor, an orphan. She has no one, no ambassador father to pay for a big shot lawyer. All she has is the truth , and it’s useless.

“Please, no, no,” she says, but it’s — wrong. Suddenly everything is wrong, This isn’t — Neal’s laughter, the cigarette smoke, the laughs from the police officers — the laughs from the police officers? “Please, please, no.”

She screams, bolts upright, wipes the sweat from her forehead.

Takes a deep breath.

A nightmare .

“Christ, Emma,” she whispers, her heart pounding in her throat.

She lays back down, trying to steady her breath as she kicks the comforter off of her legs.

The comforter? She doesn’t own a comforter. What the—

Killian. She remembers it all at once, the detective, the apartment, the almost-pseudo-dating. The stalker. Is that why she’s had a nightmare about Neal? The first she’s had in… years, really, she realizes, running her fingers through her hair.

She can’t steady her breath, she can’t regulate her heartbeat. She can’t — she squeezes her eyes shut — she can’t breathe.

Would it be insane to — She shakes her head, sets it back down against the pillow, and tries to close her eyes again.

But it’s like her senses are on high alert. Every movement, every creak of the foundation, the wind outside the windows, everything restarts the pounding of her heart.

She knows what she has to do. When she opens the door to Killian’s bedroom, she’s surprised to see light shining from the lamp on the table behind him, though the book that he was obviously reading when he fell asleep has fallen on the floor. As quietly as she can, she moves across the living room before reaching to pick the book up off the floor. The cover is worn, obviously both aged and well-loved, but she can make out the words on the cover: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea . It pulls a smile to her face, thinking about a young Killian reading this very novel, packing it in his bag for every move she knows he’s gone through.

And then he moves on the couch, a groan slipping either from his lips or from the springs beneath him, and Emma remembers what brought her out here in the first place, sitting on the arm of the couch by his head.

“Killian,” she whispers, running her fingers through his hair, startling him awake and calming him all at the same time. “Killian, I can’t sleep.”

It takes him a moment to wake up entirely, but when his eyes meet hers, a soft smile crosses his face. “Aye, love, I’ve been graced with the same affliction. How do you think I can help you?”

She pauses for a moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth before whispering, “Come sleep with me? Please?”

It was the answer he’s been waiting for, but he is able to hold himself back from jumping off the couch. Instead, he just smiles before slowly standing up. “Of course.”

Yes, it’s everything he’s wanted over the past few days, the chance to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be okay, but when granted the opportunity, he finds himself unable to do anything, curling up on the edge of the bed as far from her as he can. Sure, she asked him to join her, but he in no way believes that to mean she wants the same. Just because they spent the first night together, just because she asked her to join him tonight, doesn’t make him assume that she is comfortable continuing their relationship the same way. She stays on her side for a few minutes, the room as silent as it is dark, until he hears her turn towards him, resting her cheek against his back.

“You are allowed to touch me, you know.” The words are soft, whispered against the fabric of his tee-shirt, and all that he needs. He turns to her, wrapping her in a hug, her face pressed into his chest.

“I’m scared, Killian,” she whispers after a few minutes of silence, almost hoping that he has fallen asleep and doesn’t hear the confession.

Instead, he moves his lips against her hair, inhaling her warm, inviting scent before responding, “I know, love. You have more than enough right to be. And I am, too, but I’m here for you.”

Though both of them move a few times to get comfortable, it is still the first night in what feels like weeks that Killian finds sleep quickly, finally a night when the visions that haunt his nightmares stay buried, peaceful until the light of the morning sun shines through the shades.

(He has all intention of making her breakfast in the morning, but she has other plans, waking him up before his alarm with her lips against his neck and her hand slowly trailing down his stomach. He settles for a cup of coffee from Granny’s — again — but he’s certainly not complaining.)

“H—hey, Jacinda,” Henry stutters, leaning up against the counter where she’s focused on the crossword puzzle in front of her, only half-paying attention to her dinner in front of her and the few customers in the diner.

She hums, not turning towards him right away, before: “Do you know anything about basketball?”

It’s just about the last thing he expects, and he snaps his mouth shut, any of his follow-up questions disappearing. “What?”

“Basketball. There’s — I’m stuck on this clue, and I can’t figure it out, or anything around it.”

“Well, what’s the clue?” he asks, pulling his cell phone from his back pocket. “I can—”

“No!” she practically yells, almost smacking the device out of his hand, and he gawks up at her until a smile grows across her features. “That’s — you can’t do that, Henry, that’s cheating.”

He returns her smile, a soft blush rising to his cheeks. “Well, I don’t know anything about basketball, but maybe Killian can help? If you’d like to join us?”

She smiles, and he feels his heart rise up his throat. He’s had a crush on her for a while, almost for as long as he’s been back in Storybrooke, but he’s never done anything about it.

Apparently the push that he needs to ask a girl out is a serial stalker. Great.

“That would be great.” She takes the crossword and her glass of water, with Henry grabbing her plate of pasta before she has the chance to ask for help. He slides into the seat first, thankful that Emma and Killian have chosen to sit beside each other the past few days, and gives Jacinda the outside in case her dinner break ends early, though doubtful with how few patrons are in the diner.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” she says, though Emma is already smiling at her.

“Of course, Miss Vidrio,” Killian says with a smile of his own. “You’re always welcome to join us.”

“She was wondering if you know anything about basketball,” Henry says, which makes one of Killian’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” he says with a shrug. “But I’ll give it a shot.”

Jacinda nods, turning her attention back down to the newspaper in front of her. “Okay, uh,” she mumbles, running her finger down the list of clues until she finds the one she’s looking for, then nods again. “ The NBA’s ‘Round Mound of Rebound ,” she reads. “Second letter is an a .” She turns her attention back to Killian, who shakes his head, so she turns to Henry.

He just shrugs.

And then Emma laughs, and every eye at the table turns to her.

“Charles Barkley.”

“What?” Jacinda says, trying to hold back a smile, but she turns her attention back down to the crossword puzzle. “I never took you for a sports fan.”

Henry and Killian both laugh, and Emma leans back against the seat.

“I’m not, really,” she says with a shrug, but that obviously doesn’t answer any of their questions — though she makes no move to explain, turning her attention instead towards Jacinda’s crossword puzzle. They’re still waiting on her to elaborate when Ruby steps in front of their table with a huff, seemingly frazzled even though the restaurant only has a handful of patrons.

“Do you guys know what you want?”

With a laugh, Killian says, “I want to know why Emma knows so much about the NBA.”

Ruby does not look impressed by Killian’s joke, but when she glances at Emma, the smirk on her face draws a smile on her own.

Shaking her head, Emma sighs. “David is a huge basketball fan. And James likes football. But David used to have a poster of Barkley in his room, and it had that nickname as the caption. We used to make jokes about it all the time. Now, if you’re done interrogating me about my childhood, I think Ruby wants to take our dinner order.”

If it weren’t for the stalker, Killian would go so far to say the next week and a half pass rather blissfully , with he and Emma able to develop a somewhat… normal relationship. On days when he has the time, he meets her somewhere for lunch — and even on days when he can’t take a formal lunch break, she sometimes shows up at the precinct with sandwiches for him and Henry.

His life is almost normal. His favorite nights are nights like tonight, when he is able to cook for her. It’s something that he’d forgotten how much he enjoys, and between the beautiful mid-morning sun lighting up the farmers�� market set up in the park and the soft grey sundress that Emma found in the back of her closet that morning, it’s the best Saturday afternoon he’s had in a while, just spending time with her and gathering everything they need to make his mother’s chicken florentine recipe for dinner that night, joined by David and Mary Margaret and Henry and Jacinda; and even though, every once in a while, he catches a movement at the edge of his vision that makes his heart skip a beat and his stomach rise to this throat, he is able to convince himself that they’re nothing, that he has nothing to worry about — and that the stalker would never dare to attack them in such a public place.

And he’s right. They make it through the afternoon without a problem — burgers for lunch, ice cream enjoyed under the shade of the park trees, plus stopping for a bottle of wine to share later, after the rest of their guests have left. The whole afternoon around Storybrooke, and no problems.

When they get back to his apartment, however, it’s another story altogether. The door is open, Killian’s first sign that there’s a problem, and he hands the grocery bags to Emma so he can pull his pistol out from underneath his tee-shirt.

“Call Graham,” he says, also handing her his phone. “Tell him it’s you and that we need backup.”

Trying — and failing — to swallow the lump in her throat, she nods, setting the bags on the hallway floor to take his phone out of his hand. “Please be careful. We can — we can wait for them to get here.”

“No,” he says, his voice stern, but she doesn’t fail to notice the slight tremble in his hands as he holds this pistol out in front of him. “Just call.”

The ice cream was a mistake, she tells herself, trying to keep it down as she finds Graham’s name on his contact list.

“Sheriff Humbert.”

“Graham, it’s me — it’s Emma,” she stutters, managing to keep down her lunch as Killian slowly pushes the door to the apartment open. “We need backup at Killian’s apartment, he thinks — someone’s here, he thinks it’s the stalker.”

“Of course. Right away.” Graham sighs. “But why are you calling me? Where’s Jones?”

“He’s in the apartment.”

This time, the noise he makes is less of a sigh and more of a groan. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles, which, in any other circumstance, would probably make Emma smile.

But now, it just chills her.

“We’ll be there right away.”

“Thank you, Graham,” she replies, then hangs up the phone.

Her heart pounds, slowly making its way up her throat with each moment that silence alone comes from the apartment. But it’s nothing compared to how she feels when instead, there’s the sound of two gunshots.

tagging: @shireness-says @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @darkcolinodonorgasm @profdanglaisstuff @stahlop @teamhook @snowbellewells @carpedzem @pepperspotts @imlaxdris71 @gingerchangeling @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @scientificapricot @resident-of-storybrooke @ultraluckycatnd @itsfabianadocarmo @galadriel26 @jennjenn615 @therealstartraveller776 @nightskylover @xarandomdreamx @kristi555 @nikkiemms @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove -- if you want to be added or removed, please let me know

#my writing #cs fics #captain swan #wordsbymeganmichael #the detective fic #i really just love this chapter #the crossword scene was not supposed to be part of this at all #but it was too good to pass up once I got to planning it #prepared for screams #because who doesn't love a good clifhanger??

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yagirleddie · 4 years ago

Text

the agency (1)

~min yoongi x reader

~summary: what happens when you have to leave the best two years of your life behind and hand the rest of it over to a corporation that turned you into a living weapon ? what happens when years later memories of an unknown life materialize out of nowhere and change everything you thought was real ?

~warnings: idk, give it a read ig

Getting close to the apartment now, you feel the nerves almost twice as much as what it was on the subway from work. The adrenaline has long worn off but the panic and anxiety lingered around your bones as you recalled the phone call from earlier.

“Are you sure there’s no other way? Cant the extraction wait?”

Your voice wavered only slightly before hiding the cough making its way up your throat. The smell of the approaching Doom’s Day seemed to only have an effect on you as unsuspecting civilians littered the pavements alongside you. A couple bumping into you without as much as an acknowledgment or an apology. Figures.

“It has to be today, agent. We agreed that we’d give you two years to live amongst these people in exchange for the rest of your life and your services.”

“I know but what about Yoongi. He’s the love of my life!! I can’t just up and leave, they’ll know something is up.” The frantic beats of your heart showed more in the trembles of your fingers than in your voice and for that you were thankful, however even you knew hiding anything from your boss was impossible.

The deadline of 9pm clouded your thoughts and you dreaded having to meet with your boyfriend of two years and his friends that have quickly become yours, knowing it would be the last time you’ll ever see them again.

Pulling out your keys to the apartment, you take note of the splintered wood of the closed door as it will most likely be the last time standing in front of it. With shaky hands, you manage to open the door and dejectedly walk through, placing your work bag on the floor and your keys in the ceramic bowl under the standard ‘LIVE LOVE LAUGH’ poster that Yoongi bought you as a gag gift for your birthday last year.

“Y/N!!”

A deep voice belonging to none other than Taehyung, Yoongi’s old flatmate before moving in with you. His black hair was curled this evening, boxy smile hidden under the cool grey fabric of his most prized hoodie. The front had the signatures of all his friends on it and the shiny silver print of yours and Yoongi’s handwriting on the back. The print reminding you of your questioning glance of why there was only two and met with the “its reserved for my favourite couples,” as his answer.

“Guess who I found lost in her pretty little head?!!”

A chorus of your name being called and their confessions of missing you brought you out of your head as a hand pushed you further into the open plan living room to stand behind the black couch.

“Fucking finally!”

“You know how long we had to wait for you?!”

“Jin hyung kept complaining about you being late!”

“Did you just call my girlfriend pretty?”

There it is. The voice you’re gonna miss so much. His deep melodic drawl still made butterflies erupt in your stomach, even almost two years after your first meeting. The gleam in his eyes when he looks at you is still evident despite being covered by the jet black strands that fall into his face, matching the all black outfit that consisted of a hoodie and sweats. He looked comfortable and all you wanted to do was snuggle against his chest and fall asleep to the rhythm that was his heart and forget that in 3 or so hours you’d have to leave.

“Hey Yoongs,” you sigh lovingly into his gesture of affection, his lips cold yet so inviting, “how’re the kids doing?”

You lean over the couch to ruffle your hands through the half-red-half-blonde hair of the youngest of Yoongi’s friends and stupidly laugh through a greeting with him. Jungkook’s doe eyes closing slightly due to his bunny teeth taking up the bottom half of his face and the dimples in his visible cheek. He shared that with his older brother, the grey haired man that sat across from Taehyung with his legs folded under him. Another person you’ll miss.

Yoongi pulls you into another embrace and patiently waits for you to wrap your arms around him. He’s a good head taller than you making your position comfortable enough to rest his chin on your head. He mumbles into your neck about Jin- the oldest and resident mother of the group- needing your opinion on the food he’s made and whether or not you’d fight his case when he’s put on trial for murdering Jimin and Hobi for being absolutely useless in the kitchen.

A breathy laugh escapes you before diving in for another soft kiss from Yoongi and whispering an ‘I love you’ in his ear. You lock eyes and you pray that he doesn’t see the sad and regretful yearning that possibly shows on your face before walking towards the kitchen with a sigh.

The kitchen is bustling with the movement of Seokjin putting together a salad while playfully berating his dongsaengs for picking the toppings off the freshly decorated cake sitting on the island’s marble countertop, courtesy of the rich bastards leaning on it. A “pre-wedding gift” they called it. If only you’d ever reach that point in your relationship.

The shorter of the two-Jimin-bounds over to you with open arms and a charming eye smile that made it hard not to smile back. His gentle laughter forced its way through your ears as his chin hit your shoulder and you wonder what you did in your past life to deserve feeling such heavy guilt in your stomach for what you’d inevitably have to do later. Surely you kicked a puppy or some shit because fuck if leaving them wasn’t going to be the most painful thing you’ve ever done.

Jimin’s short arms are replaced with the strong ones of your boyfriend, immediately recognizing it was him due to the mint and sandalwood essence of the scent that was Yoongi. His arms shook with the force of his usually silent laugh brought out of him by the shenanigans of the elder and the two men still eating away at the almost naked cake.

Hobi, the red head, and resident sunshine of the group only briefly greeted you before apologising to Jin for the cake and offering to redecorate it. His smile never leaving his face which only added to the fun atmosphere of the simplistic design of the black and white kitchen. Looking around one last time, Yoongi again notices that same forlorn look in your eye from earlier and hesitates to question it before you excuse yourself from the kitchen to “wash up and get comfortable".

Yoongi turns to Jin after watching you retreat to your shared bedroom, and asks if he thinks you’re acting weird, to which he only responds with a distracted “huh” before moving to the apartment’s very spacious balcony to neatly set out the dishes that he slaved over for majority of the afternoon

Namjoon watches Yoongi take a seat next to him with a pensive look on his face and index finger pawing away at the skin on his pink lips. Jungkook mouths to Taehyung that, as quiet as Yoongi hyung is, he’s uncharacteristically more so than usual. Yoongi sighs audibly and slouches down so far on the couch that his cleanly shaved chin rests on his chest, bringing his left hand to push his hair off his forehead.

Taehyung senses the anxious atmosphere and pulls an irritated Jungkook (for not being able to “kill the son of a bitch who got his Widowmaker killed") to where Jin, Jimin and Hobi were occupying seats nearest to the edge of the balcony.

Taehyung turns back and sees Namjoon pat, the now upright, Yoongi's shoulder and moves around the couch to get to him. Namjoon takes in the questioning glance of the dark haired younger and hesitates before explaining that Yoongi thinks Y/N is acting weird.

Before Namjoon could say anything further he's interrupted by the call of your name and a plea from Jungkook to sit next to him.

“Noona!” Jungkook pouts while requesting that you sit next to him and not Jimin which made you smile before throwing an apologetic look towards the glaring blonde. Minutes later Yoongi takes a seat next to you and brings your hand out from under your bum to hold it in his. Your sweater paws no more as the matching black hoodie pools around the wrists that were covered with light scars that only Yoongi knew existed. He smiles in your direction which immediately lightens the weight in your chest, causing you to climb into his lap. His arms snake around your slim waist, never once letting go from your hand and brings his lips to your neck.

“I missed you, baby.” Yoongi whispers into the air between you and it takes all the self restraint in your body to not burst into tears because of the situation you found yourself in.

“You saw me this morning.” You laugh and Yoongi thinks the sound alone can cure cancer, with the way your eyes seemingly disappear into your head and occasionally hitch in frequency when you struggle to draw in a breath.

Suddenly with the way he’s looking at the endearing tint on your cheeks, he doesn’t notice when his hyung stands up to make a toast, only brought back to the present when he feels you tense in his arms when you look at the time on your phone. 7:58pm.

Looking at your phone to check the time only served as a heinous reminder of the fact that in an hour your little family will be no more. The look in your eye returns and before Yoongi could comment on it, Namjoon is urging him to stand and make a speech. He stares back dumbfounded before realizing that he’s been spaced out long enough to miss both Jin and the younger male to finish talking. Which must have been long because those two had a thing for the dramatics. Tapping your waist, you move to take back your seat next to Jungkook with your body facing Yoongi as he speaks.

“We all know today is the two year mark of Y/N officially being welcomed into our family…”

Your boyfriend continues to drawl through his speech but you’re lost on the fact that it really has been two years since you met them. Back when the city was still new to you and your anticipation of civilian life was exciting. So exciting that even while finalizing the two year deal with your agency, you overlooked many of the EXTRACTION details in favour of dreaming about falling in love and starting fresh. However you didn’t take into account that leaving this life behind will hurt like hell.

“I’m excited for what the future has in store for us Jagiya but for now the only future I want to think about is our two year anniversary next week.”

The boys don’t notice your sudden quietness throughout the dinner and even if they did, they don’t comment on it. They collectively chalk it up to post work exhaustion which pulled a smile from you at their business-like discussion on your apparent exhaustion.

Namjoon and Seokjin call your name from across the table to decide their win on their discussion when a series of ear shattering explosions cut the joyful dining experience in half. In a curious and frightened panic, the boys look around and freeze at the sight of flickers of light in the near distance.

Taking their frozen stances as an opportunity you check your phone. 9:00 pm. Your hands shake and you will yourself to slip away from the 6 distracted men and unsuspecting boyfriend. Looking back you see both Jin and Yoongi ask Jungkook if he’s alright, along with the fake maknaes and getting scared “I’m fine hyungs" as a response.

Turning your back on them you don’t see Yoongi blindly reach out behind him to check if you’re alright and you don’t see him turn around in confusion.

Your throat burns with the effort it takes not to cry or call out to your friends and boyfriend and instead sucking in a breath, harshly swallowing the pains of heartbreak threatening to make your knees buckle. You dash to the front door to uncover your belongings and in a quick fashion pull out the 7 letters you wrote for your boys.

Whispering a quick sorry to no one in particular you push your way out the threshold of what once was your home, eyes filled to the brim with the painful tears of the situation. In your haste to leave you don’t notice the confused and betrayed pair of eyes standing with his back to your large Black TV, silently watching you through the mirror hanging off to the side at an angle that caught your hurried exit.

Voices fill the air with concern and panic as the boys on the balcony realise the absence of the second oldest's girlfriend. Jungkook wipes his face with the back of his hand and Jimin pulls out his phone to call you. Taehyung is off somewhere searching the house for you and Yoongi is frustratedly carding his hands through the roots of his hair.

Silence ensues as the ringing of a phone sends everyone into search mode. Jimin finds it first and the boys watch your screen light up with a picture of you and Yoongi from 6 months ago. Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook are playing soccer in the background while slightly to the left sits a bored Namjoon with his hands under his head and a sleeping Seokjin on his stomach. Hobi sits behind Namjoon, eating what’s left of the pineapple that you packed for that day.

Yoongi remembers that day well, especially because it was supposed to be a romantic date with just you two but ended up being a family picnic with you and the boys.

What scared him most was the loud and obnoxiously red notification that ripped through the air with its arrival, sending the once worried group of 7 into panic stricken fear and confusion.

9:11 [EXTRACTION COMPLETE]

#fics #bts fanfic #bts #kim seokjin #min yoonji #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungguk #bts aus

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sleepyfan-blog · 6 years ago

Note

"You said you would let them go." DS Crue??

You Said You Would Let Them Go

Fandom: Dreamswap by @onebizarrekai

Characters and pairing: DS Blue, DS Cross, DS Nightmare, DS Error, DS Crue

Warnings: unhealthy relationship, manipulation, swearing, blackmail, kidnapping, violence

Word count: 1,857

Summary: Blue is a Lying Liar. Cross discovers this.

“Blue! You’ve been manipulating and lying to me for months! I found my phone - my friends have been worried about me. I found it in your room and I’ve read the taunting messages you’ve been sending them on it. That’s… That’s it! I’m done. I’m done with you and I’m done with this.” Cross hissed, his mismatched eye lights glowing brightly with anger and a little bit of betrayal. He had really loved Blue, and had hoped that the other wasn’t as bad as Error and Nightmare had said.

Blue froze, staring at Cross’ phone in his hands. He’d been charging it - and he responded sweetly “Oh, but you would have only found that if you’d have gone through my room without asking first… And there’s no need to be so hasty beloved. Before you try to leave… Which would hurt me ever so much… There are a few things that you’re not aware of. Things that might change your mind, sweetheart.”

“Like what, you twisted, code-manipulating asshole?” Cross hissed. He should have known that this twisted asshole was the reason why he’d been having nightmares of his piece of shit father and what happened in X-Tale before everything ended.

“So harsh… But I do hope that you will apologize for being so mean to me soon. I suspect that you will.” Blue responded with an unsettling grin. He twitched his fingers, and the familiar figures of Nightmare and Error appeared before him. Their souls were wrapped up in the other’s strings, and their eye lights were extinguished. They stood before Cross, as if waiting for something. “You see… My strings allow me to control anyone whose soul I have wrapped up, Cross. They came here to try to rescue you from me. Which is so silly, right? We’re so clearly in love… It’s just that your friends are being overprotective.”

No. No no no. This was Gaster and Overwrite all over again. Cross summoned his blade on reflex, holding out in front of himself defensively, his hands shaking “L-let them go! Ri-right now.” That wasn’t the confident demand he’d wanted it to be. More like a terrified plea. Tears started to fall from his eye sockets “Blue… Blue please… Th-they’re my best friends… Please no… They don’t… Not like this… Please don’t keep them as puppets. I… I’ll… What do you wa-want, Blue?” The blade vanished and Cross felt his knees give out and he hit the floor, hard.

Blue walked over to him, tilting his chin upwards, purring with a wide smirk “All I want is for you to stay by my side forever… As you promised. You stay with me, and I"ll let your friends go.”

“I…. I’ll… I’ll stay. I promise. Please just let them go. Please Blue… I… I’ll be good. I’ll be good I promise.” Cross responded, shivering a little, not daring to get off of his knees.

“I’m so happy to hear that, my dearest love.” Blue responded with a smirk, and with a flick of his hand, Nightmare and Error were sent through a portal, his strings leaving the other’s souls. “Now… About those harsh words you called me earlier…”

Cross apologized for his harshness over and over again with words and gentle kisses, doing his utmost to appease the powerful creature whose side he was trapped at, shoving back his tears and panic - not wanting to incite the other’s irritation further.

Cross had been… Staying with Blue for the better part of two weeks after that awful argument. The two of them had been dating for a few months, before he’d figured out that the other was every bit the manipulative, conniving asshole that Error and Nightmare had been trying to warn him that the other was. He’d… Suspected a couple of weeks from that point – as there were certain ways that Blue talked that reminded him of… Of… No. Thinking about him would put him into that fearful, cowed mindset and Blue would definitely use that to his advantage.

But Cross was terrified that if he tried to leave the other, that Blue would just use those stars-damned strings of his in order to force him to come back to his side - either by dragging his own body - or threatening Nightmare and Error again… And it wasn’t as if there was anyone else he could go to for this, either. Nightmare and Error had been captured once, so it stood to reason that Blue could capture them again. The fact that Cross had seriously thought about surrendering himself to Justice Reigns and throwing himself on Dream’s mercy - to warn him of what Blue was truly capable of - just spoke of his desperation.

Cross was making Blue’s favorite food - spaghetti tacos. He would melt grated parmesan into little circular disks, letting them cool into the shapes of taco shells, while the pasta sauce that he’d been working and monitoring for hours continued to cook merrily on the stove. Water sausage ground up finely and turned into meatballs - with Blue’s choice of spices were currently being finished in the oven. He’s already made the other’s favorite dessert for afterwards, which was currently waiting the second coating of frosting. All made to Blue’s exacting standards.

The former royal guard still didn’t know whether or not they’d actually eat any of this tonight - or if Blue would decide on the way home that he wanted to drag him out for a date - which meant he would be either dragged to an incredibly expensive restaurant and forced to eat tiny plates of food that tasted utterly gross and pretend to enjoy it… Or go to one of the parties that some of Blue’s more affluent contacts occasionally threw, wearing clothing that his boyfriend picked out for him and expected to be social and charming… Or at least not an “Asocial grump hiding in the darkest corner of the room, hissing at anyone who comes close. Honestly Cross.” As Blue had so disapprovingly put it.

Cross jumped a little when he heard something that sounded a lot like a whimper came from beneath the floorboards. He paused for a moment, and he heard a couple more of those sounds, originating from a certain spot in their house. Cross squinted, feeling a handle on the floor, despite it looking like a bare patch of wood. He grabbed the invisible handle and pulled, groaning a little and gritting his teeth as he ripped the apparently secret door off it’s hinges, shattering the lock.

He could sense a couple of… Familiar magical signatures in the secret basement he hadn’t known existed and jumped into the pitch black hole, feeling for a light switch, hissing at how bright the overhead light was when he eventually found it. There, chained to the wall, were Nightmare and Error. Both of them looked really woozy - as if they’d been drugged or repeatedly bashed over the head. Cross’s eye lights widened in horror as he noticed that the chains that were holding them were the light color of Blue’s magical threads - kept in place by the holders placed strategically on the wall, keeping them pinned without Blue having to hold them there himself.

Horrified by the sight in front of him - and unwilling to think of the full implications of this - as it likely meant that blue had held people here like this before - as otherwise why the hell did the other know that he could do this? Especially someone like Nightmare- who was a powerful quasi-immortal. He summoned his sword and cut the both of them down. and they woke up as the strings were cut from their souls. “I… He… He said that…”

“It’s not your fault, Cross…” Nightmare groaned, starting to recover first “The shitty fucker had you convinced that he’d let us go. Error - can you get a portal open so the three of us can get the fuck out of here?”

“I… It’s going to take me a couple of moments, but I’m going to start - we should probably get moving - the further we are from the house, the less likely that bastard is going to find us immediately.” Error hissed, his eyes flashing with anger, despite the fact that the other was trembling violently.

“How rude, Error! After all we’ve been through, you’re being so mean to me. Now, Cross. What did I tell you about opening doors that were locked in this house?” Blue called out, staring down at the three of them, his hands on his hips as he shook his head in disapproving disappointment.

“FUCK YOU! You said that you would let them go!” Cross hissed back, determination and anger filling him. He felt something pull, a whisper of a voice in the back of his head and he raised a hand skywards (well, towards the floorboards. But still) summoning an attack.

“You say that as if I hadn’t tried to let them go. I tried - I really did. But they were determined to try to rescue you, despite hearing that you were staying with me.” Blue responded with a sigh “No, let’s not start anything hasty, Cross-”

“The only reason why I stayed is because you were threatening their fucking lives you smug asshole!” Cross yelled, fury eclipsing his fear, both of his eye lights blazing a bright, determined red. “You never did really let them go, did you?” He heard the giggle and cackle of someone who he long thought truly dead.

Chara rested a hand on his shoulder “Let’s punish him for hurting our friends. I’ve been asleep for so long… And I liked to sleep - but let’s kill him together, Cross.”

“… I don’t like killing, Chara. But we should teach him a lesson, so he leaves us and our friends alone.” Cross responded, frowning a little and glancing at the human’s ghost.

“Fine, but if he goes after our friends again, he doesn’t deserve the MERCY you will try to show him. Be careful, partner~!” Chara giggled, their eyes blazing with blood lust and determination.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s-” Cross started, summoning a dozen daggers and throwing them at Blue - who yelped in shock and dodged. He stopped his attack and speaking as one of Nightmare’s hands landed on his other shoulder, and the anger and stress drained from him. Chara - who looked irritated - flickered from his vision.

“We don’t have to fight Blue, Cross. Error’s got the portal open. Let’s just go. The longer we stay here, the more likely it is that he’ll capture us again.” Nightmare pointed out reasonably. “I want to kick his ass too, but it’s not worth it.”

“I… I… Alright. You’re right, as usual.” Cross responded with a huff, his attacks vanishing in a puff of magic as he followed the other through the portal. He blinked a couple of times, reaching up to get rid of a black, sticky substance that had apparently been dripping from his eye sockets. Weird, that. The three of them went to the omega timeline, talking to Core Frisk and playing video games until they passed out in a comfortable heap together, safe and happy.

#bad things happen bingo #dreamswap #ds crue #ds blue #ds cross #ds error #ds nightmare #my writing #tw manipulation #tw kidnapping #tw blackmail #tw swearing #tw violence #tw unhealthy relationship

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shelivesinthewoods · 6 years ago

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Anxious (Mr. Sinclaire x MC... sort of)

Ok, so, it doesn’t actually include my MC, Isabel. This is a little piece that came to mind that I couldn’t get rid of for Mr. Sinclaire and the Earl. This takes place... sometime... after the opera.

Tagging: @katurrade and @tinygooplandroad and @bexlyp

Rating: G

Word count : 1660 ish and I can’t make read more work tonight, so long post 😭

Not quite the era I wanted, but hey...

The day was beautiful and temperate; a lovely early summer day, warm, but the breeze carrying a crispness resemblant of spring. While waking up the familiar lane, his hands were damp; the palms a little sweaty. He stepped up to knock on the door; then hesitated— and then, a second time. He blew out a breath, muttering, “This is ridiculous.” As he finally knocked at the door, “How many times have you spoken to the Earl of Edgewater? After father died, you nearly spent more time here than at home.”

The heavy door swung open to reveal Mr. Woods; the steward greeted him with a bow, “Mr. Sinclaire! Good morning!”

“Good morning, Mr. Woods, is— is the earl still in?” A tiny part of him hoped the answer was no.

“Yes sir, he is. Allow me a moment to inquire if he is amenable to a guest.”

“Please express my deepest apologies for arriving unannounced.”

“Of course, sir.” Woods replied, pulling the door shut behind him, and gesturing to the settee. “Please have a seat.” Woods then turned on his heel, heading further into the estate, in the direction of the Earls study.

Ernest stood for a moment, contemplating the settee, before he took up pacing. He spoke with the Earl all the time—for pity’s sake, the man had been kind enough to help him learn to run his own manor, and to take care of his family business. He’d become a mentor to the younger man, and a good friend.

“Why, Mr. Sinclaire, shouldn’t you be in London?” The shrill voice if The Countess made him stop in his tracks, “I do hope nothing untoward has befallen my husbands bastard.”

The heat behind her words nearly made him wince. He had entertained the idea that Lady Isabel had exaggerated the Countesses disdain; but clearly it had been an understatement. “I’m quite certain that Edmund or Miss Sutton would let you know immediately, Lady Henrietta.”

Her expression was pinched, “One would hope,” she agreed, “However, I’ve been hearing less from both of them recently. Pray tell, how has the season been so far?”

Mildly, he stated, “It has been pleasant enough. The entertainment has been most impressive.”

“And the companionship? I’ve heard that Miss Holloway is utterly delightful and seems quite interested in you. It would be a good match. Quite respectable.”

“It could be s good match,” he agreed— it would be a wonderful match, if he wanted s marriage like his first. That was not what he was the least bit interested in. “Except that I have no inclination to marry Felicity Holloway.”

The Countess‘ mouth pursed, “No? I have heard she is a lovely girl.” She forced a smile and he noted that it looked a little pained. Honestly, the Countess had never deemed him important enough to speak much with. Only pleasantries; and she had never actively seemed him out. “Any other ladies who have caught the attention of our elusive Mr. Sinclaire? Perhaps that is why you seek counsel from my husband?”

Ernest was relatively certain that his facial features were properly reflecting his feelings on this conversation, he started with a tense voice, “You so is both a disservice by—“

Mr. Woods returned, “My apologies for the delay Mr. Sinclaire, the earl is ready to receive you.” His eyes briefly flicked over the the Countess, “My apologies, madam.”

Sinclaire gave the steward a small closed mouth smile, “Thank you, Mr. Woods if you’ll excuse me,” he added to Henrietta as he followed the steward to the familiar study where he said, “Mr. Woods, *thank you* again.” Mr. Woods nodded once before knocking on the study door again.

All of a sudden, his palms were damp again, his nerves raging to the forefront again as Vincent called for him to come in. He took a deep breath , opened the door and slowly stepped inside. “Ernest! So good to see you.” He stood and walked over to shake Ernest’s hand. He was jovial today despite the amount of paper on his desk. “Very pleasant to see you, but I’m sure there’s a reason for this visit? I know you typically don’t return home during the season unless there’s a reason.”

Ernest blanked— not ready yet, for the conversation he came to have. “How have things been here?”

Vincent winced, clearly not the topic he should have chosen, “You shouldn’t worry over such things.” He paused, “Your first dinner party was a success, yes?”

Ah, that first dinner party. He had known since the garden party in Lady Isabel’s honor, that he’d been in trouble. He hadn’t— until she’d arrived to his dinner part— realized how much. He had simply been driven to distraction by her. Everything about her- from the beautiful red dress, to her teasing him about being a closet romantic— but it was when she followed him outside, when none of the people whom he might call friends would have (or did)- even knowing it could be perceived as improper... Well he hadn’t expected it, nor the conversation that came after. She had expressed concern for him. She’d told him that if the parties he hosted made him miserable, that he should stop. Concerned about his happiness and welfare. She was so unlike the others of the Gentry- likely due to her modest upbringing- she was genuine. Even if she were bound polite society and manners, if she was not pleased, you could tell- if you were paying attention. And he... he found himself paying far too much attention. “Yes, I would consider it successful... Duke Richards decided to... honor...us with his presence.” He just managed to keep the sneer from his voice. The man had always set his nerves on edge— Lady Isabel’s presence only made it worse.

“The Duke... does have a tendency to do what suits him when he wants to.” Vincent’s hand unconsciously went to a letter on his desk, crinkling the paper slightly.

Ernest’s head tilted slightly, “The Duke has contacted you?”

“It is a matter I am not eager to respond to. It requires no urgency on my behalf. While your visit is a pleasant surprise, Ernest, I surmise you did not come for small talk, or to discuss the Duke.”

“No sir, I did not.” ‘Why is this so difficult?!’ He wondered. He hadn’t hesitated when talking to Evelyn’s father before their engagement— he hadn’t been worried, as it had nearly been arranged for years prior to it actually happening. Their families had been close but while Ernest had always been fond of Evelyn, if her father—or she— declined, he wouldn’t have been as hurt as... as he may be now. This— this was entirely different. Ernest was afraid. Afraid he could lose the friendship he’d built with the earl, as well as Edmund but his biggest fear; the one he found hardest to face was the potential of losing her. The most beautiful woman in the world to him, the most challenging, the most worthwhile. The only one he could picture himself spending the rest of his life with. “I...” ‘Why won’t the words come?!”

Vincent gave him a very kind smile, gesturing to the chair across from him, “it’s a rare sight to see you struggling for words, Ernest.” The younger man face him a small smile, “Is this about Isabel?”

The smile came more naturally this time, as he nodded once, “Nearly everything is since she’s joined our lives.”

The earl chuckled, “She does have a way about her, doesn’t she? Even Edmund has taken a shining to her.”

“Yes! She’s helped draw him out.”

“Only him?” Vincent asked, and at the heat that lit across the younger mans cheeks, he added, “I’ve both seen and heard that you’re a changed man, Ernest. All for the better of course.”

“Thank you sir.”

“You are... fond? Of my daughter?”

Ernest sucked in a breath, studying his hands a moment before he met the elders gaze, “You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

Vincent rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Exactly what is it you wanted to discuss, my friend?” His attention was fully on him now.

After gathering his thoughts for a moment, Ernest plunged in, “I want... I want to marry Isabel.” Where as his voice started out a little hesitant, he had ended confidently, “I came to ask if you would allow me the opportunity to make her my wife.”

The Earl stared at him for a long moment, his features unreadable- long enough that Ernest questioned if he’d made a mistake- misjudged their relationship. Ernest stood, the earl did too- his mouth pulling into a huge smile, as he pulled the younger Gentry man into an embrace, “Nothing... Nothing would make me happier. Back at her garden party, even I saw something between you.” When the earl pulled away, Ernest saw that tears had pooled in his eyes, “I did not want to force Isabel into a marriage, let alone one like mine. All I want is for her to be happy. I wish... I wish I had been strong enough to pursue what would have made me happy. You believe you will grow to love her?”

“I already do... If she will have me, I will spend the rest of my days striving to make her happy and proving that love to her.”

“Then go, my boy. You surely don’t have the time to coddle an old man. Go and claim your fiancé.” He took the paper he’d tattered on his desk, “The Duke. He has also asked for Isabel’s hand.” Ernest sucked in a breath again, “ I have... delayed my response, but he will not be put off for long. I was uncertain how to tell him no, without offending- or saying that all my Isabel could write about in her last missive was the incredibly charming and handsome Mr. Sinclaire.” He winked at him, as heat erupted in his face again, “Now I can honestly say that there have been other offers and Isabel is a woman of her own mind. Go claim her.”

#desire & decorum #mr sinclaire x mc #mr sinclaire #playchocies #choices: stories you play #the earl of edgewater #long post

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doodlelolly0910 · 6 years ago

Text

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: New chapter! It's pretty much pedal to the metal from here on out, and I really hope you guys all like it! Sorry about the late update, I know the day is almost gone. I've been having internet issues lately and it's also the reason I haven't been able to respond to your lovely comments! I read them all, though, and I appreciate every one of you! Thank you as always to my fabulous beta @kmomof4 who did (and continues to do!) an amazing job with the @cssns and also find the time to beta this little project of mine :D and another HUGE thank you to @courtorderedcake who created the beautiful artwork for this fic. And thank you as well to everyone who reads this. It means so much to me that you guys are liking this so much! On with the show!

Chapter 11

"What's with the stupid warning on the door? Going for the ominous pirate vibe?" Emma said as he led her back into the office area. Milah’s presence had been near constant in the hours since she came face to face with Hook, but she had been mostly quiet, to Emma’s elation. The scent of jasmine had far surpassed bothersome at this point. She was exhausted and she could feel blood matting her hair at the back of her head where Hook had knocked her out. Everything ached. She just wanted a hot shower and to sleep for a year. But she had a job to do. Hook chuckled. "It's actually Dante, love. Divine Comedy?" he told her and Emma colored in embarrassment. Of course he was intelligent, charming, and sex on legs. He swept his hooked arm before him in a bow, beckoning her into the room, his good arm clutching her bag (now refilled with her things) and the binder, clipboard, and weapons he'd laid out on the desk before. "It's what he wrote as inscribed on the gates of hell." "And what are you? The devil?" She snorted as she walked past him into the familiar room. A rueful expression crossed his face for a brief moment as he shut the door behind them with his hip, but he recovered himself quickly. Emma studied him pensively over the brief glimpse of emotion he'd just displayed. Did he really think that lowly of himself? "I prefer dashing rapscallion," he replied with a cheeky grin and a salaciously raised eyebrow. She gave him a withering look and his grin dissolved into a flirty pout."Scoundrel?" he suggested instead. They entered the office, her face painted with a full on scowl now.

“Are you gonna tell me what I'm supposed to do for you or am I supposed to guess? ‘Cause I'm running out of time here.” She leaned up against the wall opposite where the shelves with the pictures were, putting herself as close as possible to the door. He smirked and laid out the objects he'd brought with them from the Fun Room (as Emma had snarkily dubbed it).

“You are the one who changed the subject, darling,” he reminded her before sitting in the chair behind the desk and reclining back in it slightly, a single brow quirked on his forehead. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, that’s not important. What’s important is if you need me to stay on Gold’s good side, I have,” she looked at the clock shaped like a ship’s wheel on the wall, “six hours and forty seven minutes to get whatever that thing is to him.” She pointed to the object that had very quickly become the bane of her existence sitting near his left elbow. He didn’t look at it, only continued to watch her directly. His gaze was unsettling, like he could see her very thoughts. Strange for someone who refused to believe what was actually going on inside her head.

Give him a chance, Milah’s voice murmured suddenly. Emma set her mouth in a line. She was not going to indulge the spirit in Killian’s presence anymore.

“You can have it,” Hook said with a simple shrug. There was a slight shake to Emma’s head as she looked at him in utter disbelief. She wouldn’t have been more confused if he would have said it in Chinese.

“Are you shitting me?” she nearly screeched, pushing off of the wall. “You- you- you knock me out, split my head open, actually, tie me up, threaten my life, all over me coming to get this thing and now you’re just going to hand it over? No questions asked?”

He stroked a thumb over his jawline and rubbed it over the thoughtful pout on his lips. “Sorry?” he offered, not because he actually was, but because he knew it was what Emma wanted to hear. Or maybe because he knew it would further enrage her. “If you'd rather I keep it…” he moved his good hand to the device and began to slide it towards the drawers Emma had initially found it in. Her anger quickly dissolved into panic.

“No, no, no, let's not be so hasty…” she said, taking the bait and reaching out to still his hand without thinking. His blue eyes shot to hers at the contact and she couldn't look away, her breath stilling in her chest.

“Well, if you insist,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand from underneath hers, drawing the knuckle of his forefinger down the middle of her palm and to the tip of her middle finger sending an electric spark up her arm. She pulled away, her muddled mind even more confused. One minute this guy was threatening her very existence, the next he was… well, whatever that just was.

He pulled the binder closer to him and propped it on his prosthetic arm, the hook of the device curving over the top edge of the plastic. He thumbed through a few pages and stopped on what he was looking for and turned it so Emma could see with a hard look on his face once more.

A photograph stared up at her, a smiling Killian Jones and a beautiful brunette, wrapped up in each other's arms, eyes bright, faces carefree. The swell of jasmine scented perfume around her only confirmed it as she studied the picture intently. This was Milah. She had seen this face before, she remembered, and her eyes drifted to the shelves to the side of the desk. The charcoal sketch of the same face was in the exact spot she recalled it to be. She smiled softly and looked back to Hook, his face a mask of calm despite the pain raging in his heartbroken blue eyes.

He tapped the photo with his hook, drawing her attention to the hand that was cupping Killian's jaw in the picture. There was a ring on that hand, nothing fancy, a simple silver band that twisted into a heart made of a Celtic knot.

“Since you know who Milah is, and her connection to me, I shouldn't have to explain much. She was wearing this ring when she-” he cut himself off with a firm set to his jaw before redirecting his words. “She always wore it. The bastard kept it, and I would like it back. He will keep it somewhere he has access to. He likes to use it as a tool of sorts. I tried meself to get it back once. It… did not go well,” he explained with a dark chuckle and his rap sheet immediately flitted through her mind. “You will get me this ring.” His eyes snapped up to hers. Emma studied the picture a moment longer.

She shouldn't do this. She should just take the device when he let her go and give it to Gold and work on taking him down from the inside. She could do it so easily. If Hook would have turned out to be literally anyone else, she probably would have. But, despite her resistance to it and their less than stellar first meeting, Emma had found herself invested in Killian Jones. What was more, it made her actually contemplate doing this. More than contemplate.

She wished now more than ever that Graham hadn't gotten hurt. Would any of this be happening if he'd been by her side? Would it have gone worse? A chill ran through her as she thought of Graham and herself lying side by side on a concrete floor somewhere, eyes open and unblinking. In a way, she was glad she'd gotten tangled in this by herself.

Moving towards the shelf, Hook's eyes followed her as she studied the portrait of the woman whose presence she had come to accept as part of her every day. It was odd to think that someone she had developed such a strange relationship with was someone she'd never seen until now. Both she and Liam had been so adamant that Killian Jones was a good person, and she could see from her vantage point that all of his actions seemed to be fuelled by grief. Revenge was a powerful motivator, Emma knew. She raged and lashed out against everything and everyone when her parents died, and then again with Neal. If things had gone fractionally different in her life, she could be sitting where Jones was now. That thought alone, that she could bring him just a fragment of peace, made her want to at least try.

“So this ring,” she said, her eyes moving to the wood and glass case containing the flag next to Milah's picture. The dog tags laying over the top faced away from her, but she knew who they belonged to.

His mother's ring, Milah's voice whispered in her head and Emma frowned. She was not going to react. Subconsciously, she touched the line on her neck left behind by Hook's blade from the last time she'd brought it up.

“Let's pretend there's a snowball's chance in hell that I can even get close to it, what next? You just forget about all of this?” she continued, distracting herself from the lingering presence in the room with them.

It must have been the exhaustion setting in, or maybe side effects of the head wound she'd sustained. Because there was no other explanation for why she would do what she'd done next. Emma actively avoided touching anything that belonged to the dead, knowing what kind of trigger it was for her, and yet, inexplicably, she found herself reaching out to turn the dog tags over so she could read the inscription.

The encounter slammed into her like a lightning bolt as soon as her finger grazed the first piece of metal, hurtling her through time and space inside her head. She felt like her ear drums were about to burst with the amount of ringing echoing through her skull until voices and images started filtering through.

“We did everything we could, it was just her time. But she went peacefully,” a doctor told a stoic Liam (who couldn't have been more than 20 here) as he cradled his sobbing preteen brother in his arms. A woman with a bald head lay in what looked like tranquil slumber in a hospital bed nearby, except she was too still.

A flash of light.

“I'm so proud of you, little brother.” Liam was older now, uniform clad and clapping his similarly dressed brother on the shoulder, eyes brimming with affection.

Another flash.

“Liam, I realize that it’s a whole sodding mess, but I'm in love with her! How can I not get her away from that? She's in danger!” The passion in Killian's voice had Liam moving towards him and laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Flash.

“Come on, Killian, she wouldn't have wanted this for you. I don't want this for you, and I'm still breathing. You have to stop this.” Liam hoisted a very drunk Killian up and slung his little brother's arm over his shoulders. Killian nodded on a sob and allowed his brother to lead him away.

Flash.

Red lights flashed all around, a klaxon blaring in the background. Men in uniform were running, shouting amongst the deafening sounds of explosions in the background.

“Somebody get a medic! God, no, Li, you're going to be okay, it's okay,” Killian reassured his brother as he attempted to drag his larger frame somewhere. Killian tripped over something and fell, taking the whole of his brother's weight into his lap. He quickly checked a spot on Liam's stomach that was saturated with blood and blanched, looking back up to Liam's own too pale face. Liam gave a feeble smile and shook his head.

“It's alright, little brother. You're going to be just fine,” Liam said weakly. Killian shook his head roughly, tears beginning to escape his eyes.

“Younger brother,” he joked and Liam laughed, which soon turned into a sputtering cough. He looked up at Killian, his face earnest and serious.

“I'm going, Killian,” he said softly.

“No!” the younger Jones protested on a choked sob. Liam smiled sadly at him.

“I'm so proud of you, brother. I love you very much.” Liam’s breath and words were labored now.

“SOMEBODY HELP US!” Killian screamed one last desperate time, but when he looked back down to his brother, it was too late. Liam's eyes were still open, now unseeing, the spark behind the blue orbs already extinguished. Killian let out a low bellowing moan more anguished than Emma could ever remember hearing from another person.

The scene melted into blackness this time and a familiar voice filled her head.

“It's not too late. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

Emma was wrenched from the encounter by a vice like hand on her wrist. Killian's face swam into focus as the room settled back around her and she let out a shuddering breath. He looked thunderous.

“Do not touch anything in here,” he said, a dangerous undercurrent to his tone.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered and he peeled his hand off of her wrist, his face still clouded with simmering ire.

“If you’re going to be sick, there’s a trash can in the corner over there,” he said gruffly, making his way to a small cabinet behind the desk. It was Emma’s turn to watch him move around the room as he pulled it open and removed a first aid kit. He turned around to find her standing in the same spot he left her in. Without waiting for her to make the move herself, he grasped her wrist again, the kit safely hanging from his hook by the handle, and sat her down in the chair on the other side of the desk from where he sat. He lay the plastic box he’d been carrying on the desk behind them and leaned against the surface.

Emma’s eyes widened as he reached out and skimmed his fingers along her cheek, not knowing what to expect. His fingers were warm, calloused from hard work, but not unpleasant against her skin as they curled around the nape of her neck and pulled her head forward. She held her breath as he moved the hair on the back of her head around, then blew it out sharply when he reached her wound just to the left of the crown of her head.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he reached back, still holding her hair aside with his hook, and rummaged through the kit for something. He didn’t answer, but she got one soon enough when a stream of cold liquid poured onto the wound, burning the site immediately. An expletive burst from her lips at the contact and she tensed, but didn’t pull away. “What is that?” she exclaimed, the pain fading to a dull throb as he dabbed a cloth over it.

“Isopropyl alcohol. Just cleaning the wound. Making sure you don’t need stitches. You don’t, by the way,” he said, running his fingers through her locks one last time before gently pushing her upright on her shoulder. She felt dizzy, and she wasn’t quite sure if it was from the heady perfume still lingering around her, the encounter with Liam, the head wound, or the proximity of the man sitting before her.

“Oh, so now you’re going to be a gentleman?” she scoffed, fighting the urge to touch the wound. She gathered her hair over her shoulder instead, letting her blood streaked curls rest on her chest, liquid soaking into her sweater from where it had run down her neck.

“It would be bad form to leave a lady in such a state, especially if it was my fault. And I’m always a gentleman,” he said with a wink. He put the supplies back where they belonged and came around to sit near her again. Emma fiddled with the chipped nail on her thumb, peeling it away from itself and flicking it mindlessly on the floor. There was a war going on inside her head, wondering whether or not to tell him that his brother made contact. Maybe she could better reach him with Liam than Milah.

Tell him, Milah urged. Emma nodded slightly and cleared her throat, meeting Killian’s eyes. He cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

“There's something I think you should know,” she began slowly, choosing her words carefully. Hook said nothing, only continuing to watch her impassively. She took his silence as permission to continue. “Those tags there, I knew who they belonged to before I touched them.” She saw him stiffen and she took a deep breath, holding his rapidly heating gaze. She was already this far in, so she continued. “I've seen Liam before as well. He and Milah both care about you very much and they've, uh, they kinda asked me to help you. Which is weird, given how we crossed paths, right? Well, I guess no weirder than telling you I talk to your brother and girlfriend, I guess.” She let a nervous huff of a laugh escape her lips, darting her eyes to her lap, and spoke again despite his continued silence. “When I touched the tags, I had sort of an encounter with him. He, uh, Liam, he told me something that I think I'm supposed to tell you. I'm not really sure how this stuff goes so I'm just gonna say it,” she said and straightened her shoulders, bringing her eyes back up to meet his blazing blue. “He said that it's not too late. And that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants-"

“-deserves what he gets,” Hook finished for her, the words a low mutter. Emma’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Did he believe her? His eyes cleared for a moment, grief shining like the blade of a knife within them, yes, but a sliver of hope leaving them slightly wider as well. If he didn't believe her, he certainly wanted to. “Just who the bloody hell are you, Swan?” he murmured in wonderment. Emma didn't quite know how to answer that.

It didn't matter, though, because as quickly as the moment came, it was gone, his eyes lighting back up with pain fueled anger, and he stood abruptly, making Emma press herself back into the chair. She pushed too far; she shouldn't have said anything. He grabbed her bag between the pincers of his prosthetic, flipping it open and rifling through it with his good hand. He gave a sharp nod once he'd confirmed whatever he was looking for. He snatched the infinitely mysterious device from the desktop and shoved it roughly inside the satchel. Turning his fierce gaze back to her, he thrust the bag forward into her chest, her arms coming up to grasp it automatically.

“Get out,” he growled and Emma's mouth dropped open. “Take the tracker to Gold. It's been deactivated. Permanently.”

Emma’s head swam with questions. He was throwing her out, and that was confusing in and of itself, though not really with the exchange they had just had. Violence she had been prepared for. Rejection, she hadn't been.

“You're just going to push me out the front door? And what do you mean ‘deactivated’?” she asked and stood, still trying to process being steamrolled by Killian Jones’ rage as he marched back around the desk.

“I owe you nothing more. You should be grateful for the opportunity to leave intact,” he said with a glower. “It's a shame I won't get to see the look on his face, though, when he realizes his love is gone in an instant,” he mused, nearly reveling in the knowledge that Gold would soon receive this news. Emma felt like she was going to be sick. Again.

“Are you seriously sending me back to Gold with a useless device? He's going to fucking kill me!” Emma said, fear mixing with her own rage now. “Why would you even hang on to this thing? How am I supposed to get your ring back now?” she asked, a last desperate attempt to appeal to what he wanted.

“Forget the ring,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “I should have never asked. The time for making deals is done. Just as I am done… with you.” He brushed past her and opened the door, sweeping his good arm out and gesturing for her to leave. She gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Leave now, while you still can,” he ground out and Emma's mouth snapped shut. She stalked past him, out the door and down the hall she'd first entered, avoiding eye contact with the door to the room she'd been tied up in.

She would figure this out, she had to. She wasn't giving up on Gold, maybe Jefferson could fix this tracker thing or something, but she found a strange resistance building up in the pit of her stomach at the thought of giving up on Killian Jones as well.

“Oh, and Swan?” His voice stopped her in her tracks and she turned. He pushed himself away from the door that he'd been holding open with his body weight, his hooked arm scraping down it to keep it in position.

“When you give that crocodile the device, tell him that Hook sends his regards.”

#close encounters of the spiritual kind #cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #chapter 11 #monday update #liam jones #milah #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan

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leora-strauss · 7 years ago

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Tales of a Wanderer (1)

I think I’m going to start writing a bit about Leora’s backstory on here! It’s kind of (very, very) long, but it was fun to doodle around for a few hours and do some proper writing for the first time in forever!

Word Count: 3000

Leora tapped her nail against the side of her porcelain cup as she waited. She wasn’t sure which was going to chip first, her nail or the thin layer of pastel paint along the side of the cup. She hoped it’d be neither- picking paint off coffee cups or chipping your nail didn’t exactly look professional. She put the empty cup down on the oak table in front of her, to keep it out of hand’s reach.

Her parents sat across from her on a small velvet couch. Leora had never liked this room of the manor much. She found it overly posh, decorated with its thick pastel wallpapers and overly ornate furniture. It felt too much to her like the room was trying too hard to show how classical and noble it was. But it’d been quiet, and that was the most important. They’d chosen a small sitting room in the west wing of the manor, something intimate and private- less likely to be eavesdropped or walked in on. Something she’d insisted on.

Leora’s eyes darted toward the open window as she continued to wait. The thick drapes had been pulled back and the afternoon sun lit up the pale little sitting room. Every few moments she’d hear her father shift his weight or her mother rustle and her eyes would quickly snap back to them. Both of them still sat in silence, contemplating what she’d asked moments before. Her father’s nose had scrunched up and was flaring like a rabbit -like it usually did when he was thinking hard- and her mother continued to fiddle with the fat silver ring on her slender finger. Both of their coffee cups sat on the table in front of them, stone cold.

The silence was too much to bear, she decided to push a bit further. “I know it seems like a long way away,” Leora began as she watched her parents, “But The Eastern Kingdoms really isn’t more than a month and a half away by caravel--maybe two by a frigate. I’d write regularly as well. It wouldn’t be any different than me living in Boralus.”

Her father’s nose scrunched up even harder, but her mother’s hand stopped to rest on the ring. “Aren’t you worried?” Her mother’s tone was quiet, which only made Leora’s stomach flop. She was a woman who didn’t like to yell -she’d said it was something people did when they couldn’t charm or persuade someone in a discussion. It also made it incredibly hard to read what the woman was actually thinking, which drove Leora up the wall. “If you didn’t know, the mainland isn’t the safest place right now.”

“I know, I’ve done all my reading and I’ve done as much research as I can,” Leora responded. Her back began to ache but she resisted the urge to slouch backward. “But that’s not going to change anytime soon. The world’s been consistently on fire for longer than I’ve been alive. I can’t just wait it out forever. I want to venture out and now’s better than any time. The Alliance and Horde are in a truce against the Legion and they’ve stopped most of the demonic invasions on the mainland.”

“What about the seas?” Her mother shot back, “You can see them on the horizon sometimes -those massive black ships of the Legion that hang in the sky. You don’t think a boat could out-sail that, do you?”

“I trust the captains,” Leora said simply. That was enough for her father to finally break his silence.

“And when you get to the mainland, what do you even hope to do?” Her father asked. The man hunched forward and reached for the small bottle of rum that sat beside his cold coffee. He winced, a pain shooting up his old back, as he returned to leaning against the couch. “What could the mainland provide that you couldn’t do here?”

Leora had been ready for this question, she’d rehearsed how to dodge it too. “I think it’ll be a good way for me to broaden my horizons,” she said agreeably, “Make something of myself through my own sweat and hard work,” she said with an affirmative nod. The answer had been completely devoid of any proper answer, very wordy and flowery without much content to it. Like a souffle that somehow was even more filled with hot air. It wasn’t a lie -she didn’t think she could bring herself to lie to her parents who’d always been nothing but honest with her- but it wasn’t exactly answering the question. And, from the way his nose scrunched back up, Leora’s father knew it as well.

She’d dreamed of going to the mainland for years now. Stormsong Valley was nice, and so was Boralus, and a lot of the world saw Kul Tiras as idyllic. There weren’t many places these days where the biggest and most important question was “How to save for a vacation?” or “How much should I put into my bank account”. It was idyllic and stable, and most people could earn some good money. But -after nineteen years- idyllic turns to boring and stable quickly turns to the ossified. When nothing changes, things start to get lazy and decadent. Leora could see the writing on the wall; when people were going on monster hunts for glory and fun, rather than to protect their families, something was missing on a spiritual level. Something the mainland had. Probably. More than likely.

“But there are so many dangers on the mainland,” Her mother had cut back in. She’d began to fiddle with her ring again, the elderly woman’s manicured nail tried to dig into the silver of the band anxiously. “You could be kidnapped, or swindled, and there’s a lot of people who don’t speak common on the mainland,” she said, her voice a nervous twitter now. “What if you end up lost and you can’t get back to us?”

Leora’s stomach flopped again, this time with guilt. She didn’t want to see her mother like this, she had better things to do than to be worried about her daughter. “I’ve saved money, Mama,” she said soothingly, “I’ll put it into a bank on the mainland and I won’t touch it unless it’s an emergency. You won’t have to worry about anything.”

“Except for why you’re going, of course,” Her father said, a sobering hardness in his voice. The room went quiet, a few gulls squawked as the waves crashed beneath the window as the three of them stewed in their own awkward muteness. Her father leaned back and crossed his leg, his nose unscrunched. He had an aged, aristocratic look when he wasn’t hunched over. Leora had found it scary when she’d been younger, now she kind of respected it. It made people listen to what he had to say. “I’d rather you be honest with me. You’re not leaving because you don’t think we care, do you?” he asked, no expression apart from a placid calmness as his daughter winced from his question.

“Papa, I’d never do that!” Leora exclaimed as nearly shot to her feet. She reigned herself back in at the last moment and remained sitting.

“Then why? Why leave everything you know on a gamble for something you might find something on the mainland. We can help you find it here,” Her father said. His calm, sagely expression broke, “I do care about you, even when you’re away in Boralus. I want what’s best for all of you,” he said, his voice a soft coo.

Leora licked her lips as she picked up the empty cup and brought it back into her lap. Her nail went back to picking at the paint, “Can you find different inheritance rights?” she asked. Her mother’s brow creased.

“We’re not talking about money, Leora,” the aged woman said adamantly, “We’ve always said that inheritance doesn’t matter- we take care of each other. There’s no point in running off for-”

“Eliza, she has a right to be worried,” Her father said soothingly. He slipped his fingers between his wife’s and squeezed it lovingly, coaxing her to sit down. “Yes, you’re not getting anything from the inheritance as one of the youngest.” There was a twinge of guilt in his voice, but he had little control over it.

Inheritance was an odd, ugly matter for the rich in Kul Tiras. A fortune was sliced up unevenly to keep children from fighting; the eldest having the lion’s share to keep order and each younger sibling gets a consistently smaller amount. Leora had done the math, with twenty-four other siblings the Strauss fortune would be cut up incredibly unevenly. Her eldest sister, Hannah, would get nearly thirty-four million gold. Leora would get about three gold pieces. But the family was supportive of each other, and Hannah had already offered to give out loans -at a lower than market value interest, of course. It still sat ill with Leora, all the same, and her father knew it.

“You have an education -in the law of all things- that’d have you set for life.”

“Which I need to be in the aristocracy to use to any effect,” Leora responded, “You know better than anyone that the gentry has a monopoly on the law- lawyers can get arrested for prosecuting noble cases.”

“Cedric is aristocracy. You just need to..tie yourself to him.” The conversation had a quiet death and the room went into an ugly quiet again. They both knew what that meant. Cedric was a good man, and Leora and he were technically married. But certain things had to be done first before it was legally considered a full marriage. Certain things that take about nine months to do. The thought alone made Leora queasy, nearly as queasy as it made Cedric to think.

“We have a child,” Leora deflected, “Howard’s nearly a year old and he’s a son Cedric had when we were married so-”

“The bastard of your husband’s mistress doesn’t count as your son,” Her father interrupted coldly, accompanied by a quiet hum of animosity that he kept hidden behind a quiet demure. “People snicker about that, you know? They make fun of you.”

Cedric Beaumont was the heir to a small, impoverished barony near Boralus, middle-aged but still in his prime. More importantly, and more horrendously, he was also thirty years Leora’s senior. The match had been agreeable economically to the families; a gargantuan plebeian fortune paired with an impoverished patrician family. But -as Cedric was fond of saying- “it was as sick and wrong a pairing that one could ever make”. “I’m a nobleman, not a monster,” Cedric always said firmly to those who would listen. It was the reason why Leora liked the man; he was the only person more horrified with their arrangement than she was.

It was odd to bond with someone like that; over how wrong it felt that you’d been forced together. But it had made life tolerable, and it suited their agreement. They’d live in the same home in Boralus, for reputation’s sake -their families still were eager to see them together- but they’d live separate lives. With separate beds in separate rooms. Hell, Leora sometimes forgot they were married- they acted more like hunting buddies and roommates.

Together with them lived a woman named Clarrisa, an elven woman, and Cedric’s true love. Leora liked Clarissa; they liked to read together and she’d even taught her how to shoot a rifle along with Cedric. She was the one who’d given birth to Howard, who Leora and Cedric planned on legitimizing. It was the right thing to do, and it made all three of them content- Cedric and Clarissa would have a family and Leora would be off the hook in that regard. But...people do talk, and none of it was pleasant- about the twenty-something who let her husband sleep with women behind her back. In her own house. They wouldn’t make fun of her to her face, but she always heard the snickers. The cruel little jokes.

Leora dropped the matter quickly, she rested the coffee cup in her lap. “Papa,” she began, “I know it sounds crazy and dangerous, but I can’t stay here forever. We both know I’m nearly last in inheritance- I won’t get anything.” She gripped the cup tightly, “I don’t want to live my life tied to somebody else’s success. I don’t want to have to ask for an allowance from those who get the inheritance or live as the wife of a baron in poverty. I’ve grown up with so many privileges, so many things that other people don’t have, that I don’t want my life to go to waste. I want to do something worthwhile and good with it” The flood-gates were open now, and the truth seemed to tumble from her lips before she could control it. “Even if I fail, I want to at least know I tried to do something glorious with my life. Something that I can be proud of and that I know did some good for the world around me.”

“And what happens if you die?”

She thought for a moment before she simply shrugged, “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said. Her mother’s eyes were wide, her lips pulled tightly together to try and keep herself from crying.”It means I put my life on the line for something bigger than myself.” Leora’s stomach flopped again. Her father had no taste for dramatic martyrs or the sacrificially noble. He found them obnoxious and less than endearing But, she couldn’t let this die. Not now. She got to her feet and put down the cup, “This isn’t a matter of me asking for your permission, this is me telling you I’m leaving for the mainland,” she said firmly. Silence descended back to the room and her parents stood wide-eyed up at her. For a tremor of a moment, she wanted to take back her words. Maybe there was still time; she could say she was joking, or that she wasn’t thinking straight, or she’d-

“Then I suppose I can’t stop you, Lulu,” her father said as he rose to his feet. His aged face pulled back into a small, smile. It’d been years since he’d used her pet name, and Leora was caught off guard by the sudden affection “ You’ve always had a spine, more than a lot of people here. And I don’t think I could stop you, even if I wanted to,” her father laughed. “If you really believe it’s for the best, and this is what you want, then I wouldn’t want to stop you.”

Leora looked dumbstruck for a moment before she reached across the table and gave her father a warm hug. “I promise I’ll make you proud! I’ve already booked the passage to the mainland on a ship, it’ll give me four months at sea to get used to a harder life. I’ll send letters and mementos and everything once I get there!”

“Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything, papa!”

“If it doesn’t work out, you’ll come home and settle down,” he said with a nod. “You have youth right now and chase what you like, but it doesn’t last forever. You only have so much time, and when you run out, swear to me you’ll return to life here.”

Leora’s stomach lurched, but her heart fluttered with excitement. “If I can’t make it work-out, then I will,” she said. It felt insincere to tell him she would, but it was better than starting an argument! She turned toward the door and marched out, a triumphant skip in her step, “I’m going to start packing immediately. My passage is in two days and I want to be ready!” she exclaimed as she slipped onto into the gilded hallways of the manor.

Her mother looked absolutely aghast, “Phillip,” she began breathlessly, “Do you have any idea what sort of ideas you’ve put into her head?!” she asked with a look of pure bewilderment. “You don’t actually believe she’ll go and do the things she’s talking about, do you? Running off, doing something “good”- whatever artsy nonsense that means to her! She has a lovely heart, but she’s going to get herself killed!”

Her father shook his head, “No. I use to be the same way when I was her age; young, brash, ready to drop everything to go out and do something that would get me famous,” he chuckled. “She won’t make it a half year on the mainland. She’ll pack up and return home and she’ll finally grow up, probably a bit for the wiser.”

The older woman frowned, “Well, that doesn’t exactly pleasant when you say it like that. But...you have a point,” she nodded, “The mainland isn’t some land of heroes and grandeur like she believes, at least I don’t think it is. She’s smart, and she’ll know when to quit.”

Her father nodded, watching the doorway where his second-youngest had marched out in a flurry of her own perceived triumph. “You’ll see. I know her type like the back of my hand,” he said soothingly. “She’ll go out, she’ll fail or end up destitute and unable to fail anymore, and she’ll return home and realize it’s time to put away childish fantasies like goodness and heroes away,” he nodded. “When Leora fails, we’ll be waiting here. It’ll all work out fine. I’m sure of it.”

#Tales of a Wanderer #Leora Strauss #When ya' tryna warm up for ur English essay but you decide to write edgy OC fanfic instead

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